LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 


Books  by  the  Same  Author 


ABE  AND  MAWRUSS 

ABE    AND    MAWRUSS    PHILOSO 
PHERS 

ELKAN  LUBLINER:   AMERICAN 
OBJECT:   MATRIMONY 
POTASH  AND  PERLMUTTER 


"He  ain't  been  in  the  place  a  year,  y'understand,  and 

to-night  he  marries  a  relation  of  his  boss  and  he 

gets  three  hundred  dollars  in  the  bargain" 


The 

Competitive  Nephew 


MONTAGUE  GLASS 


Illustrated 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1915 

LIBRAR^T  - 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA.  ^ 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages t 

including  the  Scandinavian 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  IQIO,  IQII,  1912,  1914,  BY  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,  igll,  BY  THE  FRANK  A.  MUNSEY  COMPANY,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 3 

A  Story  of  Business,  Nepotism,  Asthma,  and 
Even  Love 

II.    OPPORTUNITY 41 

How  It  Knocked  but  Once   on    Mr.  Zamp's 
Door,  and  Found  Him  on  the  Job 

III.  THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN 60 

Why  You  Should  Never  Even  Begin  with  Your 
Wife's  Relations 

IV.  SERPENTS'  TEETH 99 

Showing  That  Sometimes  They  Bite  Both  Ways 

V.    MAKING  OVER  MILTON 147 

The  Regeneration  of  a  Lowlife 

VI.     BIRSKY&ZAPP 186 

They  Do  Good  by  Stealth  and  Blush  to  Find 
It  Pays 

VII.    THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES 238 

And  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home  Nearly  Makes  a 
Haul 

VIII.    COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN        288 

So  That  Louis  Berkfield  Gets  His  Job  Back 

IX.    "RUDOLPH  WHERE  HAVE  You  BEEN"      .     .     .     304 
The  Viennese  Knockout  of  Two  Continents 

X.    CAVEAT  EMPTOR 327 

Meaning,  the  Buyer  Would  Better  Look  Out 
v 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

He  ain't  been  in  the  place  a  year,  y' understand, 
and  to-night  he  marries  a  relation  of  his  boss 
and  he  gets  three  hundred  dollars  in  the  bargain" 

Frontispiece 


FACING  PAGE 


"You  heard  what  Sam  says,  Aaron,  and  me,  I  stick 

to  it  also " 28 

"Nu  Belz,  ain't  you  going  to  congradulate  me? "  .  274 

She  postured,  leaped,  and  pranced  by  turns      .      .  308 


VU 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 


THE  COMPETITIVE 
NEPHEW 

CHAPTER  ONE 

THAT'S  the  way  it  goes,"  Sam  Zaretsky  cried 
bitterly.  "You  raise  a  couple  of  young 
fellers  up  in  your  business,  Max,  and  so 
soon  they  know  all  you  could  teach  'em  they  turn 
around  and  go  to  work  and  do  you  every  time." 

Max  Fatkin  nodded. 

"I  told  it  you  when  we  started  in  as  new  beginners, 
Sam,  you  should  got  a  lady  bookkeeper,"  he  said. 
"The  worst  they  could  do  is  to  get  married  on  you, 
and  all  you  are  out  is  a  couple  dollars  cut-glass  for 
an  engagement  present  and  half  a  dozen  dessert 
spoons  for  the  wedding.  But  so  soon  as  you  hire  a 
man  for  a  bookkeeper,  Sam,  he  gets  a  line  on  your 
customers,  and  the  first  thing  you  know  he  goes  as 
partners  together  with  your  designer,  and  what  could 
you  do  ?  Ain't  it  ? " 

"Louis  Sen  was  a  good  bookkeeper,  Max,"  Sam 
rejoined. 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Max  agreed,  "and  Hillel  Green- 

3 


4  THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

berg  was  a  good  designer.  That  sucker  is  such  a  good 
designer,  Sam,  he  will  take  away  all  our  trade/' 

"Not  all  our  trade,  Max,"  Sam  declared.  "Gott 
sei  dank,  we  got  a  few  good  customers  what  them 
suckers  couldn't  steal  off  of  us.  We  got,  anyhow, 
Aaron  Pinsky.  I  seen  Aaron  on  the  subway  this 
morning,  and  he  says  he  would  be  in  to  see  us  this 
afternoon  yet." 

"That's  nothing  new,  Sam.  That  feller  comes  in 
here  whenever  he's  downtown.  I  guess  some  of  our 
customers  think  he's  a  partner  here." 

"Let  'em  think  so,  Max,  it  don't  do  us  no  harm 
that  people  should  think  we  got  it  a  rich  man  like 
Pinsky  for  a  partner." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Fatkin  rejoined.  "But  the  feller 
takes  liberties  around  here,  Sam.  He  tells  us  what 
we  should  do  and  what  we  shouldn't  do.  If  it 
wouldn't  be  that  Pinsky  was  all  the  time  cracking 
up  Louis  Sen  I  would  of  fired  him  schon  long  since 
already.  Louis  was  always  too  independent,  any 
how,  and  if  we  would  of  got  rid  of  him  a  year  ago, 
Sam,  he  wouldn't  have  gone  as  partners  together 
with  Hillel  Greenberg,  and  we  wouldn't  now  be  buck 
ing  up  against  a  couple  of  dangerous  competitors." 

"That's  all  right,  Max.  As  I  told  you  before, 
Aaron  Pinsky  is  a  good  customer  of  ours,  and  if  a 
good  customer  butts  into  your  business  he  is  only 
taking  an  interest  in  you;  whereas,  if  a  fellow  which 
only  buys  from  you  goods  occasionally,  y'understand, 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW  5 

butts  in,  then  he's  acting  fresh  and  you  could  tell 
him  so." 

"But  Pinsky  butts  into  our  business  so  much, 
Sam,  that  if  he  was  the  best  customer  a  concern  ever 
had,  Sam,  he  would  be  fresh  anyhow.  The  feller 
actually  tells  me  yesterday  he  is  going  to  bring  us  a 
new  bookkeeper." 

"A  new  bookkeeper !"  Zaretsky  exclaimed.  "  Why, 
we  already  got  it  a  new  bookkeeper,  Max.  I  thought 
we  hired  it  Miss  Meyerson  what  used  to  be  with 
Klinger  &  Klein.  She's  coming  to  work  here  Mon 
day.  Ain't  it?" 

"Sure,  she  is,"  Fatkin  replied. 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  tell  him  so?" 

Fatkin  shrugged. 

"You  tell  him,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  got  the  nerve, 
Sam,  because  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Sam,  if  I 
would  turn  him  down  and  he  gets  mad,  Sam,  the 
first  thing  you  know  we  are  out  a  good  customer  and 
Greenberg  &  Sen  would  get  him  sure." 

"Well,  we  got  to  go  about  this  with  a  little  diploo- 
masher,  y'understand." 

"Diploomasher?"  Max  repeated.  "What  is  that 
— diploomasher  ?" 

"  Diploomasher,  that's  French  what  you  would  say 
that  a  feller  should  watch  out  when  you  are  deal 
ing  with  a  grouchy  proposition  like  Aaron  Pinsky." 

"  French,  hey  ? "  Max  commented.  "  Well,  I  ain't 
no  Frencher,  Sam,  and  neither  is  Aaron  Pinsky. 


6  THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

And,  furthermore,  Sam,  you  couldn't  be  high-toned 
with  an  old-fashioned  feller  like  Aaron  Pinsky. 
Lately  I  don't  know  what  come  over  you  at  all. 
You  use  such  big  words,  like  a  lawyer  or  a  doctor." 

Sam  was  working  his  cigar  around  his  mouth  to 
assist  the  cerebration  of  a  particularly  cutting  re 
joinder,  when  the  elevator  door  opened,  and  Pinsky 
himself  alighted. 

"Hallo,  boys,"  he  said,  "ain't  this  rotten  weather 
we  are  having?  December  is  always  either  one 
thing  or  the  other,  but  it  is  never  both." 

"You  shouldn't  ought  to  go  out  in  weather  like 
this,"  Max  said.  "To  a  feller  which  got  it  a  cough 
like  you,  Aaron,  it  is  positively  dangerous,  such  a 
damp  mees-erable  weather  which  we  are  having 


it." 


Aaron  nodded  and  smiled  at  this  subtle  form  of 
flattery.  He  possessed  the  worst  asthmatic  cough 
in  the  cloak  and  suit  trade,  and  while  he  suffered 
acutely  at  times,  he  could  not  conceal  a  sense  of 
pride  in  its  ownership.  It  sounded  like  a  combina 
tion  of  a  patent  automobile  alarm  and  the  shaking  of 
dried  peas  in  an  inflated  bladder,  and  when  it  seized 
Aaron  in  public  conveyances,  old  ladies  nearly  fainted, 
and  doctors,  clergymen,  and  undertakers  evinced  a 
professional  interest,  for  it  seemed  impossible  that 
any  human  being  could  survive  some  of  Aaron's 
paroxysms.  Not  only  did  he  withstand  them,  how 
ever,  but  he  appeared  positively  to  thrive  upon 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW  7 

them,  and  albeit  he  was  close  on  to  fifty,  he  might 
well  have  passed  for  thirty-five. 

"I  stood  a  whole  lot  of  Decembers  already/'  he 
said,  "and  I  guess  I  wouldn't  die  just  yet  a  while." 

As  if  to  demonstrate  his  endurance,  he  emitted  a 
loud  whoop,  and  started  off  on  a  fit  of  wheezing  that 
bulged  every  vein  in  his  forehead  and  left  him  shaken 
and  exhausted  in  the  chair  that  Max  had  vacated. 

"Yes,  boys,"  he  gasped,  "the  only  thing  which 
seems  to  ease  it  is  smoking.  Now,  you  wouldn't 
believe  that,  would  you?" 

Max  evidenced  his  faith  by  producing  a  large 
black  cigar  and  handing  it  to  Pinsky. 

"Why  don't  you  try  another  doctor,  Aaron?" 
Sam  Zaretsky  asked.  Pinsky  raised  his  right  hand 
with  the  palm  outward  and  flipped  his  fingers. 

"I've  went  to  every  professor  in  this  country  and 
the  old  country,"  he  declared,  "and  they  couldn't 
do  a  thing  for  me,  y'understand.  They  say  as  I 
grow  older,  so  I  would  get  better,  and  certainly  they 
are  right.  This  is  nothing  what  I  got  it  now.  You 
ought  to  of  heard  me  when  I  was  a  young  feller. 
Positively,  Max,  I  got  kicked  out  of  four  boarding- 
houses  on  account  the  people  complained  so.  One 
feller  wanted  to  make  me  arrested  already,  such 
hearts  people  got  it." 

Max  Fatkin  nodded  sympathetically,  and  thus 
encouraged  Aaron  continued  his  reminiscences. 

"Yes,  boys,"  he  said,  "in  them  days  I  worked  by 


8  THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

old  man  Baum  on  Catherine  Street.  Six  dollars 
week  and  P.  M.'s  I  made  it,  but  even  back  in  i8£ 
P.  M.'s  was  nix.  The  one-price  system  was  comin 
in  along  about  that  time,  and  iToncet  in  a  while  yo 
could  soak  an  Italiener  six  twenty-five  for  a  fiv< 
dollar  overcoat,  you  was  lucky  if  you  could  get  fift 
cents  out  of  old  man  Baum.  Nowadays  is  differer 
already.  Instead  of  young  fellers  learning  businei 
by  business  men  like  old  man  Baum,  they  go  t 
business  colleges  yet,  and  certainly  I  don't  say 
ain't  just  as  good." 

Sam  Zaretsky  exchanged  significant  glances  wit 
his  partner,  Max  Fatkin,  and  they  both  puffed  hai 
on  their  cigars. 

"You  take  my  nephew,  Fillup,  for  instance. 
Aaron  went  on.  "There's  a  boy  of  sixteen  whic 
just  graduated  from  business  college,  and  the  be 
writes  such  a  hand  which  you  wouldn't  believe  ; 
all.  He  gets  a  silver  medal  from  the  college  f( 
making  a  bird  with  a  pen — something  remarkabl 
The  eyes  is  all  little  dollar  marks.  I  took  it  do\\ 
to  Shenkman's  picture  store,  and  seventy-five  cen 
that  sucker  charges  me  for  framing  it." 

"That's  nothing,  Aaron,"  Sam  Zaretsky  broke  ii 
with  a  diplomatic  attempt  at  a  conversational  dive 
sion.  "That's  nothing  at  all.  I  could  tell  yc 
myself  an  experience  which  I  got  with  Shenkmai 
My  wife's  mother  sends  her  a  picture  from  the  ol 
country  yet -" 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW  9 

"Not  that  I  am  kicking  at  all,"  Aaron  inter 
rupted,  "  because  it  was  worth  it.  I  assure  you,  Sam, 
I  don't  begrudge  seventy-five  cents  for  that  boy, 
because  the  boy  is  atgood  boy,  y'understand.  The 
boy  is  a  natural-born  bookkeeper.  Single  entry  and 
double  entry,  he  could  do  it  like  nothing,  and  neat 
— that  boy  is  neat  like  a  pin." 

"Huh,  huh!"  Max  grunted. 

"Yes,"  Aaron  added,  "you  didn't  make  no  mis 
take  when  you  got  me  to  bring  you  Fillup  for  a  book 
keeper." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Max  threw  diplomacy  to 
the  winds. 

"  Got  you  to  bring  us  a  bookkeeper ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"Why,  Aaron,  I  ain't  said  a  word  about  getting  us 
this  here — now — Fillup  for  a  bookkeeper.  We  al 
ready  hired  it  a  bookkeeper." 

"What  ?"  Aaron  cried.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
got  the  nerve  to  sit  there  and  tell  me  you  ain't  asked 
me  I  should  bring  you  a  bookkeeper?" 

"Why,  Aaron,"  Sam  interrupted  with  a  withering 
glance  at  his  partner.  "I  ain't  saying  nothing  one 
way  or  the  other,  y'understand,  but  I  don't  think 
Max  could  of  asked  you  because,  only  this  morning, 
Aaron,  Max  and  me  was  talking  about  this  here,  now 
— what's-his-name — and  we  was  saying  that  now 
adays  what  future  was  there  for  a  young  feller  as 
a  bookkeeper?  Ain't  it?  I  says  to  Max  distinc 
tively:  'If  Aaron  would  bring  us  his  nephew  we 


io         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

would  give  him  a  job  on  stock.  Then  the  first  thing 
you  know  the  boy  gets  to  be  a  salesman  and  could 
make  his  five  thousand  dollars  a  year/  But  what 
could  a  bookkeeper  expect  to  be?  Ain't  it?  At  the 
most  he  makes  thirty  dollars  a  week,  and  there  he 
sticks." 

"Is  that  so?"  Aaron  retorted  ironically.  "Well, 
look  at  Louis  Sen.  I  suppose  Louis  sticks  at  thirty 
a  week,  hey?" 

"Louis  Sen  is  something  else  again,"  Sam  replied. 
"Louis  Sen  is  a  crook,  Aaron,  not  a  bookkeeper. 
That  feller  comes  into  our  place  two  years  ago,  and 
he  ain't  got  five  cents  in  his  clothes,  and  we  thought 
we  was  doing  him  a  charity  when  we  hired  him.  It 
reminds  you  of  the  feller  which  picks  up  a  frozen 
snake  and  puts  it  in  his  pants  pocket  to  get  warm, 
and  the  first  thing  you  know,  Aaron,  the  snake 
wakes  up,  and  bites  the  feller  in  the  leg.  Well, 
that's  the  way  it  was  with  Louis  Sen.  Gratitude  is 
something  which  the  feller  don't  understand  at  all. 
But  you  take  this  here  nephew  of  yours,  and  he 
comes  from  decent,  respectable  people,  y'understand. 
There's  a  young  feller,  Aaron,  what  we  could  trust, 
Aaron,  and  so  when  he  comes  to  work  by  us  on  stock, 
Aaron,  we  give  him  a  show  he  should  learn  all  about 
the  business,  and  you  take  it  from  me,  Aaron,  if  the 
boy  ain't  going  out  on  the  road  to  sell  goods  for  us  in 
less  than  two  years  he  ain't  as  smart  as  his  uncle  is, 
and  that's  all  I  can  say." 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         n 

Aaron  smiled,  and  Sam  looked  triumphantly  at  his 
partner. 

"All  right,  Sam,"  Aaron  commented,  "I  see  you 
got  the  boy's  interest  at  heart.  So  I  would  bring 
the  boy  down  here  on  Monday  morning.  And  now, 
Max,  let's  get  to  work  on  them  misses'  Norfolk  suits. 
I  want  eight  of  them  blue  serges." 

There  was  something  about  Miss  Miriam  Meyer- 
son  that  suggested  many  things  besides  ledgers  and 
trial  balances,  and  she  would  have  been  more 
"in  the  picture"  had  she  been  standing  in  front 
of  a  kitchen  table  with  her  sleeves  tucked  up  and 
a  rolling-pin  grasped  firmly  in  her  large,  plump 
hands. 

"I  don't  know,  Sam,"  Max  Fatkin  remarked  on 
Monday.  "That  girl  don't  look  to  me  an  awful  lot 
like  business.  Mind  you,  I  ain't  kicking  that  she 
looks  too  fresh,  y'understand,  because  she  reminds 
me  a  good  deal  of  my  poor  mother,  selig" 

"Ain't  that  the  funniest  thing?"  Sam  Zaretsky 
broke  in.  "I  was  just  thinking  to  myself  she  is  a 
dead  ringer  for  my  sister  Fannie.  You  know  my 
sister,  Mrs.  Brody?" 

"I  bet  yer,"  Max  Fatkin  said  fervently.  "That's 
one  fine  lady,  Mrs.  Brody.  Me  and  my  Esther  had 
dinner  there  last  Sunday.  And,  while  I  got  to  admit 
my  Esther  is  a  good  cook,  y'understand,  Mrs.  Brody 
— that's  a  good  cook,  Sam.  We  had  some  fleisch 


12         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

kugel  there,  Sam,  I  could  assure  you,  better  as  Del- 
monico's — the  Waldorf,  too." 

Sam  nodded. 

"If  she  is  as  good  a  bookkeeper  as  Fannie  is  a  cook, 
Max,*'  he  replied,  "I  am  satisfied.  Sol  Klinger  says 
that  she  is  A  Number  One.  Always  prompt  to  the 
minute  and  a  hard  worker." 

"Well,  why  did  he  fire  her,  Sam  ? "  Max  asked. 

"He  didn't  fire  her.  She  got  a  sister  living  in 
Bridgetown  married  to  Harris  Schevrien,  and  Miss 
Meyerson  goes  up  there  last  spring  right  in  the  busy 
time.  Of  course  Klinger  &  Klein  has  got  to  let  her 
go  because  under  the  circumstances,  Max,  she  is  the 
only  sister  Mrs.  Schevrien  got,  y'understand.  Then 
when  the  baby  is  two  weeks  old  it  gets  sick,  y'under 
stand,  and  Miss  Meyerson  writes  'em  not  to  expect 
her  back  before  August.  Naturally  they  got  to  fill 
her  place,  but  Sol  Klinger  tells  me  she  is  a  dandy, 
Max,  and  we  should  be  lucky  we  got  her." 

"Well,  certainly  she  don't  seem  to  be  loafing  none," 
Max  commented,  with  a  glance  toward  the  office 
where  Miss  Meyerson  was  making  out  the  monthly 
statements.  "So  far  what  I  could  see  she  is  work 
ing  twicet  as  fast  as  Louis  Sen,  and  we  ain't  paying 
her  only  fifteen  dollars." 

"  Sure,  I  know,"  Sam  said,  "  but  you  got  to  consider 
it  we  would  also  got  to  pay  Fillup  Pinsky  five  dollars 
a  week,  so  we  ain't  in  much  on  that." 

"Why  ain't  we,  Sam?     I  bet  yer  we  would  get  our 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         13 

money's  worth  out  of  Fillup.  That  boy  ain't  going  to 
fool  away  his  time  here,  Sam,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

The  corners  of  his  mouth  tightened  in  a  manner 
that  boded  ill  for  Philip,  and  his  face  had  not  re 
sumed  its  normal  amiability  when  Aaron  Pinsky  en 
tered,  with  his  nephew  Philip  in  tow. 

"Hallo,  boys,"  he  said.  "This  is  the  young  man 
I  was  talking  to  you  about.  Fillup,  shake  hands 
with  Mr.  Zaretsky  and  Mr.  Fatkin." 

After  this  operation  was  concluded,  Mr.  Pinsky 
indulged  in  a  fit  of  coughing  that  almost  broke  the 
carbon  filaments  in  the  electric-light  bulbs. 

"Fillup,"  he  gasped,  as  he  wiped  his  crimson  face, 
"make  for  them  a  couple  birds  with  a  pen." 

"That's  all  right,"  Max  interrupted,  "we  take 
your  word  for  it.  Birds  is  nix  here,  Aaron.  We  ain't 
in  the  millinery  business,  we  are  in  the  cloak  and  suit 
business,  and  instead  Fillup  should  be  making  birds 
yet,  he  shouldn't  lose  no  time,  but  Sam  will  show 
him  our  stock.  Right  away  we  will  learn  him  the 
line." 

"Business  ahead  of  pleasure,  Aaron,"  Sam  broke 
in  hurriedly,  with  a  significant  frown  at  his  partner. 
"The  boy  will  got  lots  of  time  to  make  birds  in  the 
dull  season..  Just  now  we  are  rushed  to  death,  Aaron. 
Come,  Fillup,  I'll  show  you  where  you  should  put 
your  hat  and  coat." 

Max  forced  an  amiable  smile  as  he  handed  Aaron 
Pinsky  a  cigar. 


i4         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"I  congradulate  you,  Aaron,"  he  said.  "You  got 
a  smart  boy  for  a  nephew,  and  I  bet  yer  he  would 
learn  quick  the  business.  For  a  start  we  will  pay 
him  three  dollars  a  week." 

Aaron  stared  indignantly  and  almost  snatched  the 
proffered  cigar  from  Max's  hand. 

"Three  dollars  a  week!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  do 
you  take  the  boy  for — a  greenhorn  ?  Positively  you 
should  pay  the  boy  five  dollars,  otherwise  he  would 
put  on  his  clothes  and  go  right  straight  home." 

"But,  Aaron,"  Max  protested,  "I  oser  got  three 
dollars  a  week  when  I  started  in  as  a  new  beginner. 
I  was  glad  they  should  pay  me  two  dollars  a  week 
so  long  as  I  learned  it  the  business." 

"I  suppose  you  went  to  business  college,  too,  Max. 
What  ?  I  bet  yer  when  you  first  went  to  work  you  got 
to  think  hard  before  you  could  sign  your  name  even." 

Max  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Birds,  I  couldn't  make  it,  Aaron,"  he  admitted; 
"but  the  second  week  I  was  out  of  Castle  Garden  my 
mother,  selig,  sends  me  to  night  school,  and  they  don't 
learn  you  birds  in  night  school,  Aaron.  But,  any 
how,  Aaron,  what's  the  use  we  should  quarrel  about 
it?  If  you  want  we  should  pay  the  boy  five  dollars 
a  week — all  right.  I'm  sure  if  he's  worth  three  he's 
worth  five.  Ain't  it?  And  what's  more,  Aaron, 
if  the  boy  shows  he  takes  an  interest  we  would  give 
him  soon  a  raise  of  a  couple  of  dollars.  We  ain't 
small." 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         15 

"I  know  you  ain't,  Max,"  said  Aaron,  "otherwise 
I  wouldn't  bring  the  boy  here  at  all/' 

He  looked  proudly  toward  the  rear  of  the  showroom 
where  Philip  was  examining  the  ticketed  garments 
under  the  supervision  of  Sam  Zaretsky. 

"The  boy  already  takes  an  interest,  Max,"  he  said; 
"I  bet  yer  he  would  know  your  style-numbers  by 
to-night  already." 

For  half  an  hour  longer  Sam  Zaretsky  explained 
the  sample  line  to  Philip,  and  at  length  he  handed  the 
boy  a  feather  duster,  and  returned  to  the  front  of  the 
showroom. 

"The  boy  is  all  right,  Aaron,"  he  said.  "A  good, 
smart  boy,  Max,  and  he  ain't  afraid  to  open  his 
mouth,  neither." 

"I  bet  yer  he  ain't,"  Aaron  replied,  as  Philip  ap 
proached  with  a  sample  garment  in  one  hand  and 
the  feather  duster  in  the  other. 

"Look,  Mr.  Zaretsky,"  he  said,  "here's  one  of  your 
style  twenty-twenty-two  with  a  thirty-twenty-two 
ticket  on  to  it." 

Sam  examined  the  garment  and  stared  at  his  part 
ner. 

"The  boy  is  right,  Max,"  he  said.  "We  got  the 
wrong  ticket  on  that  garment." 

For  one  brief  moment  Aaron  glanced  affectionately 
at  his  nephew,  and  then  he  voiced  his  pride  and  ad 
miration  in  a  paroxysm  of  coughing  that  made  Miss 
Meyerson  come  running  from  the  office. 


1 6         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked.  "Couldn't  I  do 
something?" 

For  almost  five  minutes  Aaron  rocked  and  wheezed 
in  his  chair.  At  length,  when  he  seemed  to  be  at  the 
point  of  suffocation,  Miss  Meyerson  slapped  him  on 
the  back,  and  with  a  final  gasp  he  recovered  his 
breath. 

" Thanks,  much  obliged,"  he  said,  as  he  wiped  his 
streaming  eyes. 

" You're  sure  you  don't  want  a  doctor?"  Miss 
Meyerson  said. 

"Me?     A  doctor?  "he  replied.     "What  for?" 

He  picked  up  his  cigar  from  the  floor  and  struck  a 
match.  "This  is  all  the  doctor  I  need,"  he  said. 

Miss  Meyerson  returned  to  the  office. 

"Who's  that  ?"  Aaron  inquired,  nodding  his  head  in 
the  direction  of  Miss  Meyerson. 

"That's  our  new  bookkeeper  which  we  got  it," 
Max  replied. 

"So  you  hired  it  a  lady  bookkeeper,"  Aaron  com 
mented.  "What  did  you  done  that  for,  Max?" 

"Well,  why  not?"  Max  retorted.  "We  got  with 
her  first  class,  A  Number  One  references,  Aaron,  and 
although  she  only  come  this  morning,  she  is  working 
so  smooth  like  she  was  with  us  six  months  already. 
For  my  part  it  is  all  the  same  to  me  if  we  would  have 
a  lady  bookkeeper,  or  a  bookkeeper." 

"  I  know,"  Aaron  continued,  "  but  ladies  in  business 
is  like  salt  in  the  cawfee.  Salt  is  all  right  and  cawfee 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         17 

also,  but  you  don't  got  to  hate  salt  exactly,  y'under- 
stand,  to  kick  when  it  gets  in  the  cawfee.  That's  the 
way  with  me,  Max;  I  ain't  no  lady-hater,  y'under- 
stand,  but  I  don't  like  'em  in  business,  except  for 
saleswomen,  models,  and  buyers,  y'understand." 

"But  that  Miss  Meyerson,"  Sam  broke  in,  "she 
attends  strictly  to  business,  Aaron." 

"Sure,  I  know,  Sam,"  Aaron  replied.  "Slaps  me 
on  the  back  yet  when  I  am  coughing." 

"Well,  she  meant  it  good,  Aaron,"  Sam  said. 

"Sure,  that's  all  right,"  Aaron  agreed.  "Sure, 
she  meant  it  good.  But  it's  the  idee  of  the  thing, 
y'understand.  Women  in  business  always  means 
good,  Max,  but  they  butt  in  too  much." 

"Other  people  butts  in,  too,"  Max  added. 

"  I  don't  say  they  don't,  Max.  But  you  take  it  me, 
for  instance.  When  something  happens  which  it 
makes  me  feel  bad,  Max,  I  got  to  swear,  y'under 
stand.  I  couldn't  help  it.  And,  certainly,  while  I 
don't  say  that  swearing  is  something  which  a  gentle 
man  should  do,  especially  when  there's  a  lady,  y'un 
derstand,  still,  swearing  a  little  sometimes  is  good 
for  the  gesund.  Instead  a  feller  should  make  another 
feller  a  couple  blue  eyes,  Max,  let  him  swear.  It 
don't  harm  nobody,  and  certainly  nobody  could  sue 
you  in  the  courts  because  you  swear  at  him  like  he 
could  if  you  make  for  him  a  couple  blue  eyes.  But 
you  take  it  when  there  is  ladies,  Max,  and  then  you 
couldn't  swear/' 


i8         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Max  rejoined;  "and  you  couldn't 
make  it  a  couple  blue  eyes  on  a  feller  when  ladies 
would  be  present  neither,  Aaron.  It  wouldn't  be 
etty-kit." 

"Me,  I  ain't  so  strong  on  the  etty-kit,"  Sam  broke 
in  at  this  juncture;  "but  I  do  know,  Max,  that  we 
are  fooling  away  our  whole  morning  here." 

Aaron  Pinsky  rose. 

"Well,  boys,"  he  said,  "I  got  to  be  going.  So  I 
wish  you  luck  with  your  new  boy." 

Once  more  he  looked  affectionately  toward  the  rear 
of  the  room  where  Philip  industriously  wielded  the 
feather  duster,  and  then  made  his  way  toward  the 
elevator.  As  he  passed  Miss  Meyerson's  desk  she 
looked  up  and  beamed  a  farewell  at  him.  He  caught 
it  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  and  frowned  absently. 

"I  wish  you  better,"  Miss  Meyerson  called. 

"Thanks  very  much,"  Aaron  replied,  as  the  floor 
of  the  descending  elevator  made  a  dark  line  across  the 
ground-glass  door  of  the  shaft.  He  half  paused  for  a 
moment,  but  his  shyness  overcame  him. 

"Going  down!"  he  yelled,  and  thrusting  his  hat 
more  firmly  on  his  head  he  disappeared  into  the 
elevator. 

Three  days  afterward  Aaron  Pinsky  again  visited 
Zaretsky  &  Fatkin,  and  as  he  alighted  from  the  ele 
vator  Miss  Meyerson  came  out  of  her  office  with  a 
small  package  in  her  hand. 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         19 

"Oh,  Mr.  Pinsky,"  she  said,  "I've  got  something 
for  you." 

"Me?"  Aaron  cried,  stopping  short  in  his  progress 
toward  the  showroom.  "All  right." 

"You  know  I  couldn't  get  to  sleep  the  other  night 
thinking  of  the  way  you  were  coughing,"  she  con 
tinued.  "Every  time  I  closed  my  eyes  I  could  hear 


it." 


Evidently  this  remark  called  for  comment  of  some 
kind,  and  Aaron  searched  his  brain  for  a  suitable 
rejoinder. 

"That's  nice,"  he  murmured  at  last. 

"So  I  spoke  to  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Doctor  Golden- 
reich,  about  it,"  she  went  on,  "and  the  doctor  gave 
me  this  medicine  for  you.  You  should  take  a  table- 
spoonful  every  four  hours,  and  when  it's  all  gone  I'll 
get  you  some  more." 

She  handed  the  bottle  to  Aaron,  who  thrust  it  into 
his  overcoat  pocket. 

"Thanks;  much  obliged,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  she  commented  as  she  re 
turned  to  the  office. 

Aaron  looked  after  her  in  blank  surprise.  "Sure 
not,"  he  muttered,  starting  off  for  the  showroom  in 
long,  frightened  strides. 

"Say,  Max,"  he  said,  "what's  the  matter  with  that 
girl  ?  Is  she  verruckt  ?" 

" Verruckt!"  Max  exclaimed.  "What  d'ye  mean 
— verruckt?  Say,  lookyhere,  Aaron,  you  should  be 


20         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

careful  what  you  are  saying  about  a  lady  like  Miss 
Meyerson.  She  already  found  where  Louis  Sen 
makes  mistakes,  which  Gott  weiss  wie  vile  it  costed 
us  yet.  You  shouldn't  say  nothing  about  that  girl, 
Aaron,  because  she  is  a  cracker-jack,  A  Number  One 
bookkeeper.*' 

"Did  I  say  she  wasn't?"  Aaron  replied.  "I  am 
only  saying  she  acts  to  me  very  funny,  Max.  She 
gives  me  this  here  bottle  of  medicine  just  now." 

He  poked  the  package  at  Max,  who  handled 
it  gingerly,  as  though  it  might  explode  at  any 
minute. 

"What  d'ye  give  it  to  me  for?"  he  cried.     "I  don't 


want  it." 


"Well,  I  don't  want  it,  neither,"  Aaron  replied. 
"She  ain't  got  no  right  to  act  fresh  like  that  and  give 
me  medicine  which  I  ain't  asked  for  at  all." 

He  looked  exceedingly  hurt  and  voiced  his  in 
dignation  with  a  tremendous  whoop,  the  forerunner 
of  a  dozen  minor  whoops  which  shaded  off  into  a  suc 
cession  of  wheezes.  It  seemed  to  Max  and  Sam  that 
Aaron  would  never  succeed  in  catching  his  breath, 
and  just  when  he  appeared  to  be  at  his  ultimate 
gasp  Miss  Meyerson  ran  up  with  a  tablespoon.  She 
snatched  the  bottle  from  Max's  grasp  and,  tearing  off 
the  wrapping  paper,  she  drew  the  cork  and  poured  a 
generous  dose. 

"Take  this  right  now,"  she  commanded,  pressing 
the  spoon  to  Aaron's  lips.  With  a  despairing  glance 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         21 

at  Max  he  swallowed  the  medicine,  and  immediately 
afterward  made  a  horrible  grimace. 

"T'phooee!"  he  cried.  "What  the — what  are  you 
trying  to  do — poison  me?" 

"That  won't  poison  you,"  Miss  Meyerson  declared. 
"It'll  do  you  good.  All  he  needs  is  about  six  more 
doses,  Mr.  Fatkin,  and  he'd  be  rid  of  that  cough  in  no 


time." 


Max  nodded. 

"Miss  Meyerson  is  right,  Aaron,"  he  said.  "You 
ought  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

Aaron  wiped  his  eyes  and  his  moustache  with  his 
handkerchief. 

"You  ain't  got  maybe  a  little  schnapps  in  your 
desk,  Max?"  he  said. 

"Schnapps  is  the  worst  thing  you  could  take,  Mr. 
Pinsky,"  Miss  Meyerson  cried.  "Don't  give  him 
any,  Mr.  Fatkin;  it'll  only  make  him  worse." 

She  shook  her  head  warningly  at  Aaron  as  she  and 
Sam  walked  back  to  the  office. 

"What  d'ye  think  for  a  fresh  woman  like  that?" 
he  said  to  Max  as  Miss  Meyerson's  head  once  more 
bent  over  her  books. 

"  She  ain't  fresh,  Aaron,"  Max  replied.  "  She's  just 
got  a  heart,  y'understand." 

"But "  Aaron  began. 

"But  nothing,  Aaron,"  Max  broke  in.  "I  will 
wrap  up  the  medicine  and  you  will  take  it  home  with 
you.  The  girl  knows  what  she  is  talking  about,  Aaron, 


22         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

and  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  leave  off  schnapps 
a  little  while  and  do  what  she  says  you  should.  I  see 
on  the  bottle  it's  from  Doctor  Goldenreich.  He's  a 
specifl/itist  from  the  chest  and  lungs,  and  I  bet  yer  if 
you  would  go  to  him  he  would  soak  you  ten  dollars 
yet." 

No  argument  could  have  appealed  so  strongly  to 
Aaron  as  this  did,  and  he  thrust  the  bottle  into  his 
breast-pocket  without  another  word. 

"And  how  is  Fillup  coming  on  ? "  he  asked. 

"We  couldn't  complain,"  Max  replied.  "The  boy 
is  a  good  boy,  Aaron.  He  is  learning  our  line  like  he 
would  be  with  us  six  months  already." 

"That's  good,"  Aaron  commented.  "I  bet  yer 
before  he  would  be  here  a  month  yet  he  would  know 
the  line  as  good  as  Sam  and  you." 

Max  smiled. 

"I  says  the  boy  is  a  good  boy,  Aaron,"  he  said, 
"but  I  never  says  he  was  a  miracle,  y'understand." 

"That  ain't  no  miracle,  Max,"  Aaron  retorted. 
"That's  a  prophecy." 

Max  smiled  again,  but  the  prediction  more  than 
justified  itself  in  less  than  a  month,  for  at  the  end  of 
that  time  Philip  knew  the  style-number  and  price  of 
every  garment  in  Zaretsky  &  Fatkin's  line. 

"I  never  see  nothing  like  it,  Sam,"  Max  said. 
"The  boy  is  a  human  catalogue.  You  couldn't 
stump  him  on  nothing." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Sam  replied.     "Sometimes  I  got 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         23 

to  think  we  make  a  mistake  in  letting  that  boy  know 
all  our  business." 

"A  mistake!"  Max  repeated.  "What  d'ye  mean 
a  mistake?" 

"I  mean,  Max,  that  the  first  thing  you  know  Aaron 
goes  around  blowing  to  our  competitors  how  well  that 
boy  is  doing  here,  Max,  and  then  a  concern  like 
Sammet  Brothers  or  Klinger  &  Klein  would  offer  the 
boy  seven  dollars  a  week,  and  some  fine  day  we'll 
come  downtown  and  find  that  Fillup's  got  another 
job.  Also  the  feller  what  hires  him  would  have  a 
human  catalogue  of  our  whole  line,  prices  and  style- 
numbers  complete." 

"Always  you  are  looking  for  trouble,  Sam,"  Max 
cried. 

"Looking  for  it  I  ain't,  Max.  I  don't  got  to  look 
for  it,  because  when  a  feller  got  it  a  competitor  like 
Greenberg  &  Sen,  Max,  he  could  find  trouble  without 
looking  for  it.  Them  suckers  was  eating  lunch  in 
Wasserbauer's  on  Monday  when  Aaron  goes  in  there 
with  Fillup.  Elenbogen,  of  Plotkin  &  Elenbogen, 
seen  the  whole  thing,  Max,  and  he  told  it  me  this 
morning  in  the  subway  to  make  me  feel  bad.  Some 
times  without  meaning  it  at  all  a  feller  could  do  you  a 
big  favour  when  he  tells  you  something  for  spite. 
Ain't  it?" 

"What  did  he  tell  you ? "  Max  asked. 

"  He  says  that  Greenberg  &  Sen  goes  over  to  Aaron's 
table  and  the  first  thing  you  know  a  box  of  cigars  is 


24         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

going  around  and  Fillup  is  drinking  a  bottle  of  celery 
tonic.  Elenbogen  says  you  would  think  Aaron  was 
nobody,  because  them  two  fellers  ain't  paid  no 
attentions  to  him  at  all.  Everything  was  Fillup. 
They  made  a  big  holler  about  the  boy,  Max,  and  they 
asks  Elenbogen  to  lend  'em  his  fountain  pen  so  the 
boy  could  make  it  birds  on  the  backof  the  bill-off-fare. 
Elenbogen  says  his  fountain  pen  was  put  out  of  busi 
ness  ever  since.  Also,  Sen  insists  on  taking  the 
bill-off-fare  away  with  him,  and  Elenbogen  says 
Aaron  feels  so  set  up  about  it  he  thought  he  would  spit 
blood  yet,  the  way  he  coughs." 

"That's  a  couple  of  foxy  young  fellers,"  Max  said. 
"You  could  easy  get  around  a  feller  like  Aaron 
Pinsky,  Sam.  He's  a  soft  proposition." 

Sam  nodded  and  was  about  to  voice  another  criti 
cism  of  Aaron  much  less  complimentary  in  character, 
when  the  elevator  door  clanged  and  Aaron  himself 
entered  the  showroom. 

"Well,  boys,"  he  said,  "looks  like  we  would  get  an 
early  spring.  Here  it  is  only  February  already  and  I 
feel  it  that  the  winter  is  pretty  near  over.  I  could 
always  tell  by  my  throat  what  the  weather  is  going  to 
be.  My  cough  lets  up  on  me  something  wonderful, 
and  with  me  that's  always  what  you  would  call  a 
sign  of  spring." 

"Might  it's  a  sign  that  Miss  Meyerson's  medicine 
done  you  good,  maybe,"  Max  commented. 

"Well,  certainly  it  ain't  done  me  no  harm,"  Aaron 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         25 

said.  "I  took  six  bottles  already,  and  though  it  ain't 
the  tastiest  thing  in  the  world,  y'understand,  it 
loosens  up  the  chest  something  wonderful." 

He  slapped  himself  in  the  region  of  the  diaphragm 
and  sat  down  deliberately. 

"However,"  he  began,  "I  ain't  come  to  talk  to  you 
about  myself.  I  got  something  else  to  say." 

He  paused  impressively,  while  Max  and  Sam  ex 
changed  mournful  glances. 

"I  come  to  talk  to  you  about  Fillup,"  he  continued. 
"There's  a  boy  which  he  got  it  ability,  y'understand. 
Five  dollars  a  week  is  nothing  for  a  boy  like  that." 

"Ain't  it?"  Max  retorted.  "Where  could  you 
find  it  a  boy  which  is  only  six  weeks  in  his  first  job 
and  gets  more,  Aaron  ? " 

Aaron  waved  his  hand  deprecatingly. 

"I  don't  got  to  go  very  far  away  from  here,  Max," 
he  said,  "to  find  a  concern  which  would  be  willing  to 
pay  such  a  boy  like  Fillup  ten  dollars  a  week,  and 
that's  twicet  as  much  as  five." 

"  But,  Aaron "Max  began,  when  Sam  Zaretsky 

rose  to  his  feet  and  raised  his  hand  in  the  solemn 
gesture  of  a  traffic  policeman  at  a  busy  crossing. 

"Listen  here  to  me,  Aaron,"  Sam  declared. 
"Always  up  to  now  you  been  a  good  friend  to  us. 
You  bought  from  us  goods  which  certainly  we  try  our 
best  to  make  up  A  Number  One,  and  the  prices  also 
we  made  right.  In  return  you  always  paid  us  prompt 
to  the  day  and  you  give  us  also  a  whole  lot  of  advice, 


26         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

which  we  took  it  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  given  us. 
That's  all  right,  too." 

He  stopped  for  breath  and  wet  his  dry  lips  before 
he  proceeded. 

"Also,"  he  continued,  "when  you  come  to  us  and 
wanted  us  we  should  take  on  Fillup,  Aaron,  we  didn't 
need  him,  y'understand,  but  all  the  same  we  took  him 
because  always  you  was  a  good  customer  of  ours,  and 
certainly,  Aaron,  I  got  to  say  that  the  boy  is  a  good 
boy  and  he  is  worth  to  us  if  not  five  dollars  a  week, 
anyhow  four  dollars  a  week." 

There  was  an  ominous  silence  in  the  showroom  as 
Sam  gave  himself  another  rest  before  continuing  his 
ultimatum. 

"  But,"  he  went  on,  "when  you  come  to  us  and  tell 
us  that  Greenberg  &  Sen  offers  the  boy  ten  dollars  a 
week  and  that  we  should  raise  him  also,  Aaron,  all  I 
got  to  say  is — we  wouldn't  do  it.  Greenberg  &  Sen 
want  your  trade,  Aaron;  they  don't  want  the  boy. 
But  if  they  got  to  pay  the  boy  ten  dollars  a  week, 
Aaron,  then  they  would  do  so,  and  if  it  was  necessary 
to  pay  him  fifteen,  they  would  do  that,  too.  Then, 
Aaron,  when  you  would  buy  goods  off  of  them  all  they 
do  is  to  add  Fillup's  wages  to  the  price  of  the  goods, 
y'understand,  and  practically  he  would  work  for  them 
for  nothing,  because  the  wages  comes  out  of  your 
pocket,  Aaron,  and  not  theirs." 

"I  never  said  nothing  at  all  about  Greenberg  & 
Sen,"  Aaron  blurted  out. 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         27 

"No  one  else  would  make  such  a  proposition, 
Aaron,"  Sam  said,  "because  no  one  else  wants 
business  so  bad  as  that.  Ourselves  we  could  offer  the 
boy  ten  dollars,  too,  and  although  we  couldn't  raise 
prices  on  you,  Aaron,  we  could  make  it  up  by  skimp 
ing  on  the  garments;  but  we  ain't  that  kind,  Aaron. 
A  business  man  is  got  to  be  on  the  level  with  his 
customers,  Aaron,  otherwise  he  wouldn't  be  in 
business  long;  and  you  take  it  from  me,  Aaron,  these 
here  two  young  fellers,  Greenberg  &  Sen,  would  got  to 
do  business  differencely  or  it  would  be  quick  good-bye 
with  'em,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

Aaron  Pinsky  rose  to  his  feet  and  gazed  hard  at 
Sam  Zaretsky. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  something,  Sam?"  he  said.  "You 
are  sore  at  them  two  boys  because  they  quit  you  and 
goes  into  business  by  themselves.  Ain't  it?" 

"I  ain't  sore  they  goes  into  business,  Aaron,"  Sam 
replied.  "Everybody  must  got  to  make  a  start, 
Aaron,  and  certainly  it  ain't  easy  for  a  new  beginner 
to  get  established,  y'understand.  Also  competition 
is  competition,  Aaron,  and  we  ourselves  cop  out  a 
competitor's  trade  oncet  in  a  while,  too,  Aaron,  but 
Greenberg  &  Sen  takes  advantage,  Aaron.  They  see 
that  you  are  fond  of  that  boy  Fillup,  and  certainly  it 
does  you  credit,  because  you  ain't  married  and  you 
ain't  got  no  children  of  your  own,  Aaron.  But  it 
don't  do  them  credit  that  they  work  you  for 
business  by  pretending  that  they  want  the  boy  be- 


28         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

cause  he  is  a  smart  boy  and  that  they  are  going  to  pay 
him  ten  dollars  a  week  because  he's  worth  it.  No, 
Aaron;  they  don't  want  the  boy  in  the  first  place,  and 
in  the  second  place  he  ain't  worth  ten  dollars  a  week, 
and  in  the  third  place  they  ain't  going  to  pay  him 
ten  dollars  a  week,  because  they  will  add  it  to  the  cost 
of  their  garments;  and,  Aaron,  if  you  want  any  fourth, 
fifth,  or  sixth  places  I  could  stand  here  talking  for  an 
hour.  But  you  got  business  to  attend  to,  Aaron,  and 
so  you  must  excuse  me." 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  trousers  pockets  and 
walked  stolidly  toward  the  cutting  room,  while  Aaron 
blinked  in  default  of  a  suitable  rejoinder. 

"My  partner  is  right,  Aaron,"  Max  said.  "He  is 
right,  Aaron,  even  if  he  is  the  kind  of  feller  that  would 
throw  me  out  of  the  window,  supposing  I  says  half 
the  things  to  you  as  he  did.  But,  anyhow,  Aaron, 
that  ain't  neither  here  nor  there.  You  heard  what 
Sam  says,  Aaron,  and  me,  I  stick  to  it  also." 

Aaron  blinked  once  or  twice  more  and  then  he  put 
on  his  hat. 

"All  right,"  he  said.     "All  right." 

He  turned  toward  the  front  of  the  showroom 
where  his  nephew  was  sorting  over  a  pile  of  garments. 

"Fillup!"  he  bellowed.  "You  should  put  on  your 
hat  and  coat  and  come  with  me." 

It  was  during  the  third  month  of  Philip  Pinsky's 
employment  with  Greenberg  &  Sen  that  Blaukopf, 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         29 

the  druggist,  insisted  on  a  new  coat  of  white  paint  for 
the  interior  of  his  up-to-date  store  at  the  northwest 
corner  of  Madison  Avenue  and  One  Hundred  and 
Twenty-second  Street.  His  landlord  demurred  at 
first,  but  finally,  in  the  middle  of  June,  a  painter's 
wagon  stopped  in  front  of  the  store  and  Harris  Shein, 
painter  and  decorator,  alighted  with  two  assistants. 
They  conveyed  into  the  store  pots  of  white  lead  and 
cans  of  turpentine,  gasoline,  and  other  inflammable 
liquids  used  in  the  removal  and  mixing  of  paints. 
Harris  Shein  was  smoking  a  paper  cigarette,  and  one 
of  the  assistants,  profiting  by  his  employer's  example, 
pulled  a  corncob  pipe  from  his  pocket.  Then,  after  he 
had  packed  the  tobacco  down  firmly  with  his  finger, 
he  drew  a  match  across  the  seat  of  his  trousers 
and  forthwith  he  began  a  three  months'  period 
of  enforced  abstinence  from  house-painting  and 
decorating.  Simultaneously  Blaukopf's  plate-glass 
show-window  fell  into  the  street,  the  horse  ran  away 
with  the  painter's  wagon,  a  policeman  turned  in  a  fire 
alarm,  three  thousand  children  came  on  the  run  from 
a  radius  of  ten  blocks,  and  Mr.  Blaukopf's  stock  in 
trade  punctuated  the  cremation  of  his  fixtures  with 
loud  explosions  at  uncertain  intervals.  In  less  than 
half  an  hour  the  entire  building  was  gutted,  and  when 
the  firemen  withdrew  their  apparatus  Mr.  Blaukopf 
searched  in  vain  for  his  prescription  books.  They 
had  resolved  themselves  into  their  original  elements, 
and  the  number  on  the  label  of  the  bottle  which  Aaron 


3o         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

carried  around  in  his  breast-pocket  provided  no  clew 
to  the  ingredients  of  the  medicine  thus  contained. 

"That's  a  fine  note,"  Aaron  declared  to  Philip,  as 
they  surveyed  the  black  ruins  the  next  morning. 
"Now  what  would  I  do?  Without  that  medicine  I 
will  cough  my  face  off  already." 

He  examined  the  label  of  the  bottle  and  sighed. 

"I  suppose  I  could  go  and  see  that  Doctor  Golden- 
reich,"  he  said,  "and  right  away  I  am  out  ten  dol 
lars." 

"Why  don't  you  ring  up  Miss  Meyerson  over  at 
Zaretsky  &  Fatkin's?"  Philip  suggested. 

Aaron  sighed  heavily.  His  business  relations  with 
Greenberg  &  Sen  had  proved  far  from  satisfactory, 
and  it  was  only  Philip's  job  and  his  own  sense  of 
shame  that  prevented  him  from  resuming  his  dealings 
with  Zaretsky  &  Fatkin. 

As  for  Sam  and  Max,  they  missed  their  old  customer 
both  financially  and  socially. 

"Yes,  Sam,"  Max  said  the  day  after  Blaukopf's 
fire,  "things  ain't  the  same  around  here  like  in  for 
mer  times  already." 

"If  you  mean  in  the  office,  Max,"  Sam  said,  "I'm 
glad  they  ain't.  That's  a  fine  bookkeeper  we  got  it, 
Max,  and  a  fine  woman,  too.  Ain't  it  a  shame  and  a 
disgrace  for  young  fellers  nowadays,  Max,  that  a  fine 
woman  like  Miss  Meyerson  is  already  thirty-five  and 
should  be  single?  My  Sarah  is  crazy  about  her. 
Her  and  Sarah  goes  to  a  matinee  last  Saturday 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         31 
afternoon  together  and  Sarah  asks  her  to  dinner  to 


morrow/' 


Max  nodded. 

"With  some  bookkeepers,  Sam,"  he  said,  "you 
couldn't  do  such  things.  Right  away  they  would 
take  advantage.  Miss  Meyerson,  that's  something 
else  again.  She  takes  an  interest  in  our  business, 
Sam.  Even  a  grouch  like  Aaron  Pinsky  she  treated 
good." 

"I  bet  yer,"  Sam  replied.  "I  seen  Elenbogen  in 
the  subway  this  morning  and  he  tells  me  Aaron  goes 
around  blowing  about  paying  a  thousand  dollars  to  a 
professor  uptown  and  he  gives  him  a  medicine  which 
cures  his  cough  completely.  I  bet  yer  that's  the 
same  medicine  which  he  got  it  originally  from  Miss 
Meyerson." 

"I  bet  yer,"  Max  agreed  as  the  telephone  bell  rang. 
Sam  hastened  to  answer  it. 

"Hallo!"  he  said.  "Yes,  this  is  Zaretsky  &  Fatkin. 
You  want  to  speak  to  Miss  Meyerson?  All  right. 
Miss  Meyerson!  Telephone!" 

Miss  Meyerson  came  from  her  office  and  took  the 
receiver  from  Sam. 

"Hello,"  she  said.     "Who  is  this,  please?" 

The  answer  made  her  clap  her  hand  over  the  trans 
mitter. 

"It's  Aaron  Pinsky,"  she  said  to  Max,  and  both 
partners  sprang  to  their  feet. 

"  What  does  he  want  ? "  Sam  hissed. 


32         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Miss  Meyerson  waved  them  to  silence  and  resumed 
her  conversation  over  the  'phone. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Pinsky,"  she  said.  "What  can  I  do 
for  you  ? " 

She  listened  patiently  to  Aaron's  narrative  of  the 
fire  in  Blaukopf  s  drug  store,  and  when  he  had  con 
cluded  she  winked  furtively  at  her  employers. 

"Mr.  Pinsky,"  she  said,  "won't  you  repeat  that 
over  again?  I  didn't  understand  it." 

Once  more  Aaron  explained  the  details  of  the  pre 
scription  book's  incineration,  and  again  Miss  Meyer- 
son  winked. 

"Mr.  Pinsky,"  she  said,  "I  can't  make  out  what 
you  say.  Why  don't  you  stop  in  here  at  twelve 
o'clock?  Mr.  Zaretsky  is  going  to  Newark  and  Mr. 
Fatkin  will  be  out  to  lunch." 

She  listened  carefully  for  a  few  minutes  and  then 
her  face  broke  into  a  broad  grin. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Pinsky,"  she  concluded.  "Good 
bye." 

She  turned  to  her  employers. 

"He's  coming  here  at  twelve  o'clock,"  she  said. 
"He  told  me  that  the  drug  store  burnt  down  where 
he  gets  his  cough  medicine,  and  he  wants  another 
prescription.  And  I  said  I  didn't  understand  him  so 
as  to  get  him  over  here." 

"Well,  what  good  would  that  do?"  Max  asked. 

"I  don't  know  exactly,"  Miss  Meyerson  answered, 
"but  I  saw  Mr,  Pinsky  coming  out  of  Greenberg  & 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         33 

Sen's  last  week  and  he  looked  positively  miserable.  I 
guess  he's  just  as  anxious  to  get  back  here  as  you  are 
to  have  him." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Max  commented,  "but  we 
wouldn't  pay  that  young  feller,  Fillup,  ten  dollars  a 
week,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  won't  have  to,"  said  Miss  Meyerson. 
"Perhaps  if  you  leave  this  thing  to  me  I  can  get 
Pinsky  to  come  back  here  and  have  Philip  stay  over 
to  Greenberg  &  Sen's." 

"Huh!"  Max  snorted.  "A  fine  chance  that  boy 
got  it  to  keep  his  job  if  Aaron  Pinsky  quits  buying 
goods !  They'll  fire  him  on  the  spot." 

"Then  we'll  take  him  in  here  again,"  Sam  declared. 
"He'll  be  glad  to  come  back  at  the  old  figure,  I  bet 
yer." 

"That's  all  right,"  Max  grunted.  "Never  meld 
your  cards  till  you  see  what's  in  the  widder.  First, 
Miss  Meyerson  will  talk  to  him,  and  then  we  will 
consider  taking  back  Fillup." 

"Sure,"  Sam  rejoined,  "and  you  and. me  will  go 
over  to  Wasserbauer's  and  wait  there  till  Miss  Meyer- 
son  telephones  us." 

It  was  precisely  twelve  when  the  elevator  stopped 
at  Zaretsky  &  Fatkin's  floor.  Aaron  Pinsky  alighted 
and  walked  on  tiptoe  to  the  office. 

"Hallo,  Miss  Meyerson!"  he  said,  extending  his 
hand,  "is  any  of  the  boys  around?" 

"They're  both  out,"  Miss  Meyerson  replied,  shak- 


34         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

ing  Aaron's  proffered  hand.  "It  looks  like  old  times 
to  see  you  back  here." 

"Don't  it?"  Pinsky  said.  "It  feels  like  old  times 
tome.  Is  the  boys  busy?" 

"Very,"  said  Miss  Meyerson.  "We're  doing  twice 
the  business  that  the  books  show  we  did  a  year 
ago." 

Aaron  beamed. 

" That's  good,"  he  said.  "Them  boys  deserves  it, 
Miss  Meyerson.  When  you  come  to  consider  it, 
Miss  Meyerson,  I  got  pretty  good  treatment  here. 
The  goods  was  always  made  up  right  and  the  prices 
also.  I  never  had  no  complaint  to  make.  But  cer 
tainly  a  feller  has  got  to  look  out  for  his  family,  and 
so  long  as  my  nephew  gets  along  good  I  couldn't  kick 
if  oncet  in  a  while  Greenberg  &  Sen  sticks  me  with  a 
couple  of  garments.  Last  week  they  done  me  up  good 
with  eight  skirts." 

"And  how  is  Philip?"  Miss  Meyerson  asked. 

"Miss  Meyerson,"  Aaron  began,  "that  boy  is  a 
good  boy,  y'understand,  but  somehow  or  another 
Greenberg  &  Sen  don't  take  no  interest  in  him  at  all. 
I  don't  think  he  learns  much  there,  even  though  they 
did  raise  him  two  dollars  last  week." 

"And  how  is  your  cough  getting  on,  Mr.  Pinsky?" 
Miss  Meyerson  continued. 

"Since  I  ain't  been  taking  the  medicine  it  ain't 
been  so  good,"  Aaron  announced,  and,  as  if  in  cor- 
roboration  of  his  statement,  he  immediately  entered 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         35 

upon  a  fit  of  coughing  that  well-nigh  strangled  him. 
After  Miss  Meyerson  had  brought  him  a  glass  of 
water  he  repeated  the  narrative  of  the  burned-out 
drug  store  and  produced  the  bottle  from  his  breast 
pocket. 

"That's  too  bad  that  the  prescription  was  burned/' 
Miss  Meyerson  said.  "I'll  get  another  one  from  my 
cousin's  husband  to-night  and  bring  it  down  here  to 


morrow." 


"Hold  on  there,  Miss  Meyerson,"  Aaron  said. 
"To-morrow  them  boys  might  be  in  here,  and  I  don't 
want  to  risk  it." 

"Why,  they  wouldn't  bite  you,  Mr.  Pinsky,"  she 
declared. 

"Sure,  I  know.  But  the  fact  is  I  feel  kind  of 
funny  about  meeting  'em  again — just  yet  a  while, 
anyhow." 

"But,  Mr.  Pinsky,"  Miss  Meyerson  went  on  per 
suasively,  "it's  foolish  of  you  to  feel  that  way  about 


it.' 


"Maybe  it  is,"  Aaron  admitted,  "but,  just  the 
same,  Miss  Meyerson,  if  you  wouldn't  think  it  fresh 
or  anything,  I'd  like  to  come  up  and  call  on  you  to 
night,  if  you  don't  mind,  Miss  Meyerson,  and  you 
could  give  me  the  prescription  then." 

"Why,  certainly,"  Miss  Meyerson  cried  heartily. 
She  turned  to  her  desk  and  opened  her  handbag. 

" Here's  my  card,"  she  said.  "I  live  with  my 
cousin,  Mrs.  Goldenreich." 


36         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Thanks;  much  obliged,"  Aaron  murmured, 
pocketing  the  card.  "I'll  be  there  at  eight  o'clock." 

Once  more  he  glanced  furtively  around  him  and 
then,  with  a  final  handshake,  he  started  off  on  tiptoe 
for  the  stairs.  As  soon  as  he  disappeared  Miss  Meyer- 
son  took  up  the  receiver. 

"Ten-oh-four-oh,  Harlem,"  she  said. 

"Hello,"  she  continued,  "is  this  you,  Bertha? 
Well,  this  is  Miriam.  Will  you  send  over  to  Reis- 
becker's  and  get  a  four-pound  haddock?  Never 
mind  what  I  want  it  for.  I'm  going  to  have  company 
to-night.  Yes,  that's  right,  and  I  want  to  make  some 
gefullte  fisc he.  You  say  you  have  plenty  of  onions? 
Well,  then,  I'll  bring  home  ten  cents' worth  of  Spanish 
saffron  and  half  a  dozen  fresh  eggs.  I'll  make  some 
mohnkuchen  after  I  get  home.  Did  my  white  silk 
waist  come  back  from  the  cleaners?  I  don't  care. 
You  can't  jolly  me.  Good-bye." 

It  was  almost  one  o'clock  before  she  remembered 
to  telephone  over  to  Wasserbauer's,  and  when  Sam 
and  Max  returned  they  dashed  into  the  office  and 
exclaimed:  "Well?"  with  what  the  musical  critics 
call  splendid  attack. 

"He's  coming  over  to  call  on  me  to-night,"  Miss 
Meyerson  replied  with  a  blush,  "and  I'll  see  what  I 
can  do  then." 

"You  see,  Sam,"  Max  commented,  "  I  told  you  you 
shouldn't  reckon  up  how  much  chickens  you  will  got 
till  the  hen  lays  'em." 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         37 

Max  Fatkin  visited  a  buyer  at  an  uptown  hotel  on 
his  way  to  the  office  the  following  morning,  so  that  it 
was  nearly  nine  before  he  entered  his  showroom.  As 
he  walked  from  the  elevator  he  glanced  toward  Miss 
Meyerson's  desk.  It  was  vacant. 

"Sam,"  he  cried,  "where's  Miss  Meyerson?" 

Sam  Zaretsky  emerged  from  behind  a  rack  of  skirts 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"She's  late  the  first  time  since  she's  been  with  us, 
Max,"  he  replied. 

"  Might  she  is  sick,  maybe,"  Max  suggested.  "  I'll 
ring  up  her  cousin,  the  doctor,  and  find  out." 

"That's  a  good  idee,"  Sam  replied.  Max  was 
passing  the  elevator  door  when  it  opened  with  a  scrape 
and  a  clang. 

"Hallo,  Max!"  a  familiar  voice  cried. 

Max  turned  toward  the  elevator  and  gasped,  for  it 
was  Pinsky  who  stepped  out.  His  wonder  grew  to 
astonishment,  however,  when  he  beheld  Aaron  ten 
derly  assisting  Miss  Meyerson  to  alight  from  the 
elevator. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said.     "I'm  late." 

"That's  all  right,"  Max  cried.  "Any  one  which  is 
always  so  prompt  like  you  has  a  right  to  be  late  oncet 
in  a  while." 

He  looked  at  Aaron  shyly  and  wet  his  lips  with 
his  tongue. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "how's  the  boy?" 

"Fillup  is  feeling  fine,  Gott  sei  dank,"  Aaron  replied. 


38         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"  But  never  mind  Fillup  now.  I  come  here  because  I 
got  to  tell  you  something,  Max.  Where's  Sam?" 

"Here  I  am,  Aaron,"  Sam  said,  as  he  came  fairly 
running  from  the  showroom.  "And  you  don't  got  to 
tell  us  nothing,  Aaron,  because  a  feller  could  buy 
goods  where  he  wants  to.  Always  up  to  three  months 
ago  you  was  a  good  friend  to  us,  Aaron,  and  even  if 
you  wouldn't  buy  nothing  from  us  at  all  we  are  glad 
to  see  you  around  here  oncet  in  a  while,  anyhow." 

"But,  Sam,"  Aaron  replied,  "give  me  a  chance  to 
say  something.  Goods  I  ain't  buying  it  to-day.  I 
got  other  things  to  buy." 

He  turned  to  Miss  Meyerson  with  a  wide,  affection 
ate  grin  on  his  kindly  face. 

"Yes,  Sam,"  he  continued,  "I  got  a  two-and-a- 
half  carat  blue-white  solitaire  diamond  ring  to  buy." 

"What!"  Sam  cried,  while  Max  gazed  at  Miss 
Meyerson  with  his  eyes  bulging. 

"That's  right,"  Aaron  went  on; "  a  feller  ain't  never 
too  old  to  make  a  home,  and  even  if  there  would  be 
ten  years  difference  in  our  ages,  ten  years  ain't  so 
much." 

"Especially  when  it's  nearer  twenty,"  Sam  added 
gallantly. 

"Well,  we  won't  quarrel  about  it,"  Aaron  said. 
"The  thing  is,  Max,  that  a  woman  ain't  got  no 
business  in  business  unless  she's  got  to,  and  Miriam 
ain't  got  to  so  long  as  I  could  help  it.  Yes,  Sam, 
three  months  from  to-day  you  and  Max  and  Mrs. 


THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW         39 

Fatkin  and  Mrs.  Zaretsky  would  all  come  to  dinner 
at  our  house  and  Miriam  would  make  the  finest 
gefullte  fische  which  it  would  fairly  melt  in  your 
mouth." 

"I  congradulate  you,  Miss  Meyerson,"  Sam  said. 
"We  are  losing  the  best  bookkeeper  which  we  ever 
got." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  Sam,"  Aaron  cried.  "You 
know  where  you  could  always  get  another.  Fillup 
ain't  going  to  hold  that  job  with  them  suckers  any 
longer." 

"And  since  we  aren't  going  to  be  married  for  two 
months  yet,"  Miss  Meyerson  added,  "I'll  keep  my 
position  here  and  break  Philip  into  his  new  job." 

"That  suits  us  fine,"  Sam  declared.  "And  to 
show  you  we  ain't  small  we  will  start  him  at  the  same 
money  what  we  pay  Miss  Meyerson — fifteen  dollars 
a  week." 

Aaron  turned  toward  the  two  partners  and  ex 
tended  both  his  hands. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  could  say  to 
you." 

"Don't  say  nothing,"  Max  interrupted.  "The 
boy  is  worth  it,  otherwise  we  wouldn't  pay  it.  Busi 
ness  is  business." 

"I  know  it,  boys,"  he  said;  "but  a  business  man 
could  have  also  a  heart,  ain't  it?" 

Max  nodded. 

"And  you  boys,"  Aaron  concluded,  "you  got  a 


40         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

heart,  too,  believe  me.     What  a  heart  you  got  it! 
Like  a  watermelon!" 

He  looked  at  Miss  Meyerson  for  an  approving 
smile  and,  having  received  it,  he  gave  final  expression 
to  his  emotions  of  friendship  and  gratitude  in  the 
worst  coughing-spell  of  his  asthmatic  career. 


CHAPTER  TWO 
OPPORTUNITY 

WHAT  is  brokers?"  Mr.  Marcus  Shimko 
asked.  "A  broker  is  no  good,  otherwise  he 
wouldn't  be  a  broker.  Brokers  is  fellers 
which  they  couldn't  make  a  success  of  their  own 
affairs,  Mr.  Zamp,  so  they  butt  into  everybody  else's. 
Particularly  business  brokers,  Mr.  Zamp.  Real- 
estate  brokers  is  bad  enough,  and  insurings  brokers 
is  a  lot  of  sharks  also;  but  for  a  cutthroat,  a  low-life 
bum,  understand  me,  the  worst  is  a  business  broker!" 

"That's  all  right,  too,  Mr.  Shimko,"  Harry  Zamp 
said  timidly;  "but  if  I  would  get  a  partner  with  say, 
for  example,  five  hundred  dollars,  I  could  make  a  go 
of  this  here  business." 

Mr.  Shimko  nodded  skeptically. 

"I  ain't  saying  you  couldn't,"  he  agreed,  "but 
where  would  you  find  such  a  partner?  Nowadays  a 
feller  with  five  hundred  dollars  don't  think  of  going 
into  retail  business  no  more.  The  least  he  expects 
is  he  should  go  right  away  into  manufacturing.  Job 
bing  and  retailing  is  nix  for  such  a  feller,  understand 
me — especially  clothing,  Mr.  Zamp,  which  nowadays 

41 


42         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

even  drug  stores  carries  retail  clothing  as  a  side  line, 
so  cut  up  the  business  is." 

Harry  Zamp  nodded  gloomily. 

"And,  furthermore,"  Shimko  added,  "business 
brokers  could  no  more  get  you  a  partner  with  money 
as  they  could  do  miracles,  Mr.  Zamp.  Them  days  is 
past,  Mr.  Zamp,  and  all  a  business  broker  could  do 
nowadays  is  to  bring  you  a  feller  with  experience,  and 
you  don't  need  a  business  broker  for  that,  Mr.  Zamp. 
Experience  in  the  retail  clothing  business  is  like  the 
measles.  Everybody  has  had  it." 

"Then  what  should  I  do,  Mr.  Shimko?"  Zamp 
asked  helplessly.  "I  must  got  to  get  a  partner  with 
money  somewhere,  ain't  it?  And  if  I  wouldn't  go  to 
a  business  broker,  who  then  would  I  go  to?  A  bar 
tender?" 

"Never  mind!"  Mr.  Shimko  exclaimed.  "Some 
people  got  an  idee  all  bartenders  is  bums,  but  wunst 
in  a  while  a  feller  could  get  from  a  bartender  an  advice 
also.  I  got  working  for  me  wunst  in  my  place  down 
on  Park  Row  a  feller  by  the  name  Klinkowitz,  which 
he  is  now  manager  of  the  Olympic  Gardens  on 
Rivington  Street;  and  if  I  would  have  took  that  feller's 
advice,  Mr.  Zamp,  instead  I  am  worth  now  my  tens 
of  thousands  I  would  got  hundreds  of  thousands 
already.  'When  you  see  a  feller  is  going  down  and 
out,  Mr.  Shimko/  he  always  says  to  me,  'don't  show 
him  no  mercy  at  all.  If  you  set  'em  up  for  a  live  one, 
Mr.  Shimko/  he  says,  'he  would  anyhow  buy  a  couple 


OPPORTUNITY  43 

of  rounds;  but  a  dead  one,  Mr.  Shimko,'  he  says,  'if 
you  show  him  the  least  little  encouragement,  under 
stand  me,  the  least  that  happens  you  is  he  gets  away 
with  the  whole  lunch-counter/  Am  I  right  or  wrong  ? " 

Mr.  Zamp  nodded.  He  resented  the  imputation 
that  he  was  a  dead  one,  but  he  felt  bound  to  agree 
with  Mr.  Shimko,  in  view  of  the  circumstance  that  on 
the  following  day  he  would  owe  a  month's  rent  with 
small  prospect  of  being  able  to  pay  it.  Indeed,  he 
wondered  at  Mr.  Shimko's  amiability,  for  as  owner  of 
the  Canal  Street  premises  Shimko  had  the  reputation 
of  being  a  harsh  landlord.  Had  Zamp  but  known  it, 
however,  store  property  on  Canal  Street  was  not  in 
active  demand  of  late,  by  reason  of  the  new  bridge 
improvements,  and  Shimko's  amiability  proceeded 
from  a  desire  to  retain  Zamp  as  a  tenant  if  the  latter's 
solvency  could  be  preserved. 

"But  I  couldn't  help  myself,  Mr.  Zamp,"  Shimko 
went  on.  "I  got  no  business  keeping  a  restaurant  at 
all." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Shimko's  late  restaurant 
was  of  the  variety  popularly  designated  as  a  "barrel 
house,"  and  he  had  only  retired  from  the  business 
after  his  license  had  been  revoked. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Zamp,"  Shimko  continued;  "in  a 
business  like  that  a  feller  shouldn't  got  a  heart  at  all. 
But  I  am  very  funny  that  way.  I  couldn't  bear  to 
see  nobody  suffer,  understand  me,  and  everybody 
takes  advantage  of  me  on  account  of  it.  So  I  tell 


44         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

you  what  I  would  do.  My  wife  got  a  sort  of  a  relation 
by  the  name  Miss  Babette  Schick,  which  she  works 
for  years  by  a  big  cloak  and  suit  concern  as  a  designer. 
She  ain't  so  young  no  longer,  but  she  got  put  away  in 
savings  bank  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars,  and  she  is 
engaged  to  be  married  to  a  young  feller  by  the  name 
Isaac  Meiselson,  which  nobody  could  tell  what  he  does 
for  a  living  at  all.  One  thing  is  certain — with  the 
money  this  Meiselson  gets  with  Miss  Schick  he  could 
go  as  partners  together  with  you,  and  pull  you  out  of 
the  hole,  ain't  it?" 

Mr.  Zamp  nodded  again,  without  enthusiasm. 

"Sure,  I  know,  Mr.  Shimko,"  he  said;  "but  if  a 
young  feller  would  got  two  thousand  dollars  to  invest 
in  a  business,  y'understand,  why  should  he  come  to 
me?  If  he  would  only  got  five  hundred  dollars,  Mr. 
Shimko,  that  would  be  something  else  again.  But 
with  so  much  as  two  thousand  dollars  a  feller  could 
get  lots  of  clothing  businesses  which  they  run  a  big 
store  with  a  couple  of  cutters,  a  half  a  dozen  salesmen, 
and  a  bookkeeper.  What  have  I  got  to  offer  him  for 
two  thousand  dollars?  Me,  I  am  salesman,  cutter, 
bookkeeper,  and  everything;  and  if  this  feller  comes  in 
here  and  sees  me  alone  in  the  place,  with  no  customers 
nor  nothing,  he  gets  an  idee  it's  a  dead  proposition. 
Ain't  it?" 

Shimko  pulled  out  a  full  cigar-case,  whereat  Zamp's 
eye  kindled,  and  he  licked  his  lips  in  anticipation;  but 
after  Shimko  had  selected  a  dark  perfecto,  he  closed 


OPPORTUNITY  45 

the  case  deliberately  and  replaced  it  in  his  breast 
pocket. 

"A  business  man  must  got  to  got  gumption,"  he 
said  to  the  disappointed  Zamp;  "  and  if  you  think  you 
could  got  a  partner  just  by  bringing  him  into  the  store 
here,  and  showing  him  the  stock  and  fixtures  which 
you  got  it,  you  are  making  a  big  mistake." 

"Well,  of  course  I  am  expecting  I  should  blow  him 
to  dinner  maybe,"  Zamp  protested,  "with  a  theayter 
also." 

Shimko  evidenced  his  disgust  by  puffing  vigor 
ously  at  his  cigar. 

"You  are  just  like  a  whole  lot  of  other  people, 
Zamp,"  he  said.  "You  are  always  willing  to  spend 
money  before  you  make  it.  Meiselson  comes  in  here 
and  sees  you  only  got  a  small  stock  of  piece  goods, 
understand  me,  and  you  couldn't  afford  to  keep  no 
help,  and  then,  on  the  top  of  that  yet,  you  would  take 
him  out  and  blow  him.  Naturally  he  right  away 
gets  the  idee  you  are  spending  your  money  foolishly, 
instead  of  putting  it  into  your  business,  and  the  whole 
thing  is  off." 

Zamp  shrugged  impotently. 

"What  could  I  do,  Mr.  Shimko?"  he  asked.  "I 
got  here  a  small  stock  of  goods,  I  know,  but  that's 
just  the  reason  why  I  want  a  partner." 

"And  that's  just  the  reason  why  you  wouldn't  get 
one,"  Shimko  declared.  "A  small  stock  of  piece 
goods  you  couldn't  help,  Zamp;  but  if  you  let  that 


46        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

feller  come  into  your  store  and  find  you  ain't  got  no 
cutters  or  customers,  that's  your  own  fault." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  Mr.  Shimko?"  Zamp  demanded. 

"  I  mean  this,"  Shimko  explained.  "  If  I  would  got 
a  store  like  you  got  it  here,  Zamp,  and  a  friend  offers 
to  bring  me  a  feller  with  a  couple  thousand  dollars  for 
a  partner,  understand  me,  I  would  go  to  work, 
y'understand,  and  get  a  couple  cutters  and  engage 
'em  for  the  afternoon.  Then  I  would  turn  around, 
y'understand,  and  go  up  and  see  such  a  feller  like 
Klinkowitz,  which  he  is  manager  of  that  theayter  on 
Rivington  Street,  and  I  would  get  him  to  fix  up  for 
me  a  half  a  dozen  young  fellers  from  his  theayter, 
which  they  would  come  down  to  my  store  for  the  day, 
and  some  of  'em  acts  like  customers,  and  others  acts 
like  clerks.  Then,  when  my  friend  brings  in  the 
feller  with  two  thousand  dollars,  understand  me, 
what  do  they  see  ?  The  place  is  full  of  customers  and 
salesmen,  and  in  the  rear  is  a  couple  of  cutters  chalk 
ing  lines  on  pattern  papers  and  cutting  it  up  with 
shears.  You  yourself  are  so  busy,  understand  me, 
you  could  hardly  talk  a  word  to  us.  You  don't 
want  to  know  anything  about  getting  a  partner  at  all. 
What  is  a  partner  with  two  thousand  dollars  in  a 
rushing  business  like  you  are  doing  it?  I  beg  of  you 
you  should  take  the  matter  under  consideration,  but 
you  pretty  near  throw  me  out  of  the  store,  on  account 
you  got  so  much  to  do.  At  last  you  say  you  would 
take  a  cup  coffee  with  me  at  six  o'clock,  and  I  go 


OPPORTUNITY  47 

away  with  the  two-thousand-dollar  feller,  and  when 
we  meet  again  at  six  o'clock,  he's  pretty  near  crazy  to 
invest  his  money  with  you.  Do  you  get  the  idee?" 

"Might  you  could  even  get  the  feller  to  pay  for  the 
coffee,  maybe,"  Zamp  suggested,  completely  carried 
away  by  Shimko's  enthusiasm. 

"If  the  deal  goes  through,"  Shimko  declared,  in  a 
burst  of  generosity,  "I  would  even  pay  for  the  coffee 
myself!" 

"And  when  would  you  bring  the  feller  here?" 
Zamp  asked. 

"I  would  see  him  this  afternoon  yet,"  Shimko 
replied,  as  he  opened  the  store  door,  "and  I  would 
telephone  you  sure,  by  Dachtel's  place,  at  four 
o'clock." 

Zamp,  full  of  gratitude,  shook  hands  with  his  land 
lord. 

"If  I  would  got  such  a  head  like  you  got  it  to  think 
out  schemes,  Mr.  Shimko,"  he  said  fervently,  "I 
would  be  a  millionaire,  I  bet  yer!" 

"The  thinking  out  part  is  nothing,"  Shimko  said, 
as  he  turned  to  leave.  "Any  blame  fool  could  think 
out  a  scheme,  y'understand,  but  it  takes  a  pretty 
bright  feller  to  make  it  work!" 

"If  a  feller  wouldn't  be  in  business  for  himself," 
Shimko  said  to  Isaac  Meiselson,  as  they  satin  Wasser- 
bauer's  Cafe  that  afternoon,  "he  might  just  as  well 
never  come  over  from  Russland  at  all." 


48         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"I  told  you  before,  Mr.  Shimko,"  Meiselson  re 
torted,  "I  am  from  Lemberg  geborn." 

"Oestreich  oder  Russland,  what  is  the  difference?" 
Shimko  asked.  "If  a  feller  is  working  for  somebody 
else,  nobody  cares  who  he  is  or  what  he  is;  while  if  he's 
got  a  business  of  his  own,  understand  me,  everybody 
would  respect  him,  even  if  he  would  be  born  in,  we 
would  say  for  example,  China." 

"Sure,  I  know,  Mr.  Shimko,"  Meiselson  rejoined; 
"but  there  is  businesses  and  businesses,  and  what  for 
a  business  is  a  small  retail  clothing  store  on  Canal 
Street?" 

"Small  the  store  may  be,  I  ain't  denying  it," 
Shimko  said;  "but  ain't  it  better  a  feller  does  a  big 
business  in  a  small  store  as  a  small  business  in  a  big 
store?" 

"If  he  does  a  big  business,  yes,"  Meiselson  ad 
mitted  ;  "  but  if  a  feller  does  a  big  business,  why  should 
he  want  to  got  a  partner?" 

"Ain't  I  just  telling  you  he  don't  want  no  partner ? " 
Shimko  interrupted.  "And  as  for  doing  a  big  busi 
ness,  I  bet  yer  we  could  drop  in  on  the  feller  any  time, 
and  we  would  find  the  store  full  of  people." 

"Gezviss,"  Meiselson  commented,  "three  people 
playing  auction  pinochle  in  a  small  store  is  a  big 
crowd!" 

"No  auction  pinochle  gets  played  in  that  store, 
Meiselson.  The  feller  has  working  by  him  two  cut 
ters  and  three  salesmen,  and  he  makes  'em  earn  their 


OPPORTUNITY  49 

money.  Only  yesterday  I  am  in  the  store,  and  if  you 
would  believe  me,  Meiselson,  his  own  landlord  he 
wouldn't  talk  to  at  all,  so  busy  he  is." 

"In  that  case,  what  for  should  he  need  me  for  a 
partner  I  couldn't  understand  at  all,"  Meiselson 
declared. 

"Neither  could  I,"  Shimko  replied,  "but  a  feller 
like  you,  which  he  would  soon  got  two  thousand  dol 
lars  to  invest,  needs  him  for  a  partner.  A  feller  like 
Zamp  would  keep  you  straight,  Meiselson.  What 
you  want  is  somebody  which  he  is  going  to  make  you 
work." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  going  to  make  me  work?" 
Meiselson  asked  indignantly.  "  I  am  working  just  as 
hard  as  you  are,  Mr.  Shimko.  When  a  feller  is  selling 
toilet  soaps  and  perfumeries,  Mr.  Shimko,  he  couldn't 
see  his  trade  only  at  certain  hours  of  the  day." 

"I  ain't  kicking  you  are  not  working,  Meiselson," 
Shimko  said  hastily.  "All  I  am  telling  you  is,  what 
for  a  job  is  selling  toilet  soaps  and  perfumery?  You 
got  a  limited  trade  there,  Meiselson;  because  when  it 
comes  to  toilet  soaps,  understand  me,  how  many 
people  takes  it  so  particular?  I  bet  yer  with  a  hun 
dred  people,  Meiselson,  eighty  uses  laundry  soap, 
fifteen  ganvers  soap  from  hotels  and  saloons,  and  the 
rest  buys  wunst  in  six  months  a  five-cent  cake  of  soap. 
As  for  perfumery,  Meiselson,  for  a  dollar  bill  you 
could  get  enough  perfumery  to  make  a  thousand 
people  smell  like  an  Italiener  barber-shop;  whereas 


50         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

clothing,  Meiselson,  everybody  must  got  to  wear  it. 
If  you  are  coming  to  compare  clothing  with  toilet 
soap  for  a  business,  Meiselson,  there  ain't  no  more 
comparison  as  gold  and  putty/' 

Meiselson  remained  silent. 

"Furthermore,"  Shimko  continued,  "if  Zamp  sees 
a  young  feller  like  you,  which  even  your  worst  enemy 
must  got  to  admit  it,  Meiselson,  you  are  a  swell 
dresser,  and  make  a  fine,  up-to-date  appearance,  un 
derstand  me,  he  would  maybe  reconsider  his  decision 
not  to  take  a  partner." 

"Did  he  say  he  wouldn't  take  a  partner?"  Meisel 
son  asked  hopefully. 

"He  says  to  me  so  sure  as  you  are  sitting  there: 
'Mr.  Shimko,  my  dear  friend,  if  it  would  be  for  your 
sake,  I  would  willingly  go  as  partners  together  with 
some  young  feller/  he  says;  'but  when  a  business 
man  is  making  money,'  he  says,  'why  should  he  got  to 
got  a  partner?'  he  says.  So  I  says  to  him:  'Zamp,'  I 
says,  'here  is  a  young  feller  which  he  is  going  to  get 
married  to  a  young  lady  by  the  name  Miss  Babette 
Schick."' 

"She  ain't  so  young  no  longer,"  Meiselson  broke  in 
ungallantly. 

"'By  the  name  Miss  Babette  Schick,'"  Shimko 
continued,  recognizing  the  interruption  with  a  ma 
levolent  glare,  "'which  she  got,  anyhow,  a  couple 
thousand  dollars,'  I  says;  'and  for  her  sake  and  for 
my  sake,'  I  says,  'if  I  would  bring  the  young  feller 


OPPORTUNITY  51 

around  here,  would  you  consent  to  look  him  over?' 
And  he  says  for  my  sake  he  would  consent  to  do  it,  but 
we  shouldn't  go  around  there  till  next  week." 

"All  right,"  Meiselson  said;  "if  you  are  so  dead 
anxious  I  should  do  so,  I  would  go  around  next  week." 

"Say,  lookyhere,  Meiselson,"  Shimko  burst  out 
angrily,  "don't  do  me  no  favours!  Do  you  or  do 
you  not  want  to  go  into  a  good  business?  Because, 
if  you  don't,  say  so,  and  I  wouldn't  bother  my  head 
further." 

"Sure  I  do,"  Meiselson  said. 

"Then  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  Shimko  con 
tinued.  "We  wouldn't  wait  till  next  week  at  all. 
With  the  business  that  feller  does,  delays  is  dangerous. 
If  we  would  wait  till  next  week,  some  one  offers  him  a 
good  price  and  buys  him  out,  maybe.  To-morrow 
afternoon,  two  o'clock,  you  and  me  goes  over  to  his 
store,  understand  me,  and  we  catches  him  unawares. 
Then  you  could  see  for  yourself  what  a  business  that 
feller  is  doing." 

Meiselson  shrugged. 

"I  am  agreeable,"  he  said. 

"Because,"  Shimko  went  on,  thoroughly  aroused 
by  Meiselson's  apathy,  "if  you're  such  a  fool  that  you 
don't  know  it,  Meiselson,  I  must  got  to  tell  you. 
Wunst  in  a  while,  if  a  business  man  is  going  to  get  a 
feller  for  partner,  when  he  knows  the  feller  is  coming 
around  to  look  the  business  over,  he  plants  phony 
customers  round  the  store,  and  makes  it  show  up  like 


52         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

it  was  a  fine  business,  when  in  reality  he  is  going  to 
bust  up  right  away." 

"So?"  Meiselson  commented,  and  Shimko  glared 
at  him  ferociously. 

uYou  don't  appreciate  what  I  am  doing  for  you 
at  all,"  Shimko  cried.  "I  wouldn't  telephone  the 
feller  or  nothing  that  we  are  coming,  understand  me? 
We'll  take  him  by  surprise." 

Meiselson  shrugged. 

"Go  ahead  and  take  him  by  surprise  if  you  want 
to,"  he  said  wearily.  "  I  am  willing." 

In  point  of  fact,  Isaac  Meiselson  was  quite  content 
to  remain  in  the  soap  and  perfumery  trade,  and  it  was 
only  by  dint  of  much  persuasion  on  Miss  Babette 
Schick's  part  that  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  embark 
in  a  more  lucrative  business.  It  seemed  a  distinct 
step  downward  when  he  compared  the  well-nigh  ten 
der  methods  employed  by  him  in  disposingof  soap  and 
perfumery  to  the  proprietresses  of  beauty  parlours, 
with  the  more  robust  salesmanship  in  vogue  in  the 
retail  clothing  business;  and  he  sighed  heavily  as  he 
contemplated  the  immaculate  ends  of  his  finger-nails, 
so  soon  to  be  sullied  by  contact  with  the  fast-black, 
all-wool  garments  in  Zamp's  clothing  store. 

"Also,  I  would  meet  you  right  here,"  Shimko  con 
cluded,  "at  half-past  one  sharp  to-morrow." 

After  the  conclusion  of  his  interview  with  Isaac 
Meiselson,  Shimko  repaired  immediately  to  Zamp's 


OPPORTUNITY  53 

tailoring  establishment,  and  together  they  proceeded 
to  the  office  of  Mr.  Boris  Klinkowitz,  manager  of  the 
Olympic  Gardens,  on  Rivington  Street.  Shimko  ex 
plained  the  object  of  their  business,  and  in  less  than 
half  an  hour  the  resourceful  Klinkowitz  had  engaged 
a  force  of  cutters,  salesmen,  and  customers  sufficient 
to  throng  Harry  Zamp's  store  for  the  entire  day. 

"You  would  see  how  smooth  the  whole  thing  goes," 
Klinkowitz  declared,  after  he  had  concluded  his  ar 
rangements.  "The  cutters  is  genu-ine  cutters,  mem 
bers  from  a  union  already,  and  the  salesmen  works 
for  years  by  a  couple  concerns  on  Park  Row." 

"And  the  customers?"  Zamp  asked. 

"That  depends  on  yourself,"  Klinkowitz  replied. 
"If  you  got  a  couple  real  bargains  insamplegarments, 
I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  customers  couldbe  genu 
ine  customers  also.  Two  of  'em  works  here  as  waiters, 
evenings,  and  the  other  three  ain't  no  bums,  neither. 
I  called  a  dress-rehearsal  at  your  store  to-morrow 
morning  ten  o'clock." 

On  the  following  day,  when  Mr.  Shimko  visited  his 
tenant's  store,  he  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"Ain't  it  wonderful?"  he  exclaimed.  "Natural 
like  life!" 

"S-s-sh!"  Zamp  exclaimed. 

"What's  the  matter,  Zamp?"  Shimko  whispered. 

Zamp  winked. 

"Only  the  cutters  and  the  salesmen  showed  up," 
he  replied. 


54         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Well,  who  are  them  other  fellows  there?"  Shimko 
asked. 

"How  should  I  know?"  Zamp  said  hoarsely.  "A 
couple  of  suckers  comes  in  from  the  street,  and  we 
sold  'em  the  same  like  anybody  else." 

Here  the  door  opened  to  admit  a  third  stranger. 
As  the  two  "property"  salesmen  were  busy,  Zamp 
turned  to  greet  him. 

"Could  you  make  me  up  maybe  a  dress  suit  mit  a 
silk  lining?"  the  newcomer  asked. 

"What  are  you  so  late  for?"  Zamp  retorted. 
"  Klinkowitz  was  here  schon  an  hour  ago  already." 

The  stranger  looked  at  Zamp  in  a  puzzled  fashion. 

"What  are  you  talking  about — Klinkowitz?"  he 
said.  "I  don't  know  the  feller  at  all." 

Zamp  gazed  hard  at  his  visitor,  and  then  his  face 
broke  into  a  broad,  welcoming  smile. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said.  "I  am  making  a  mistake. 
Do  you  want  a  French  drape,  oder  an  unfinished 
worsted?" 

For  the  next  thirty  minutes  a  succession  of 
customers  filled  the  store,  and  when  at  intervals 
during  that  period  Klinkowitz's  supernumeraries 
arrived,  Zamp  turned  them  all  away. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Zamp?"  Shimko  exclaimed. 
"At  two  o'clock  the  store  would  be  empty!" 

"Would  it?"  Zamp  retorted,  as  he  eyed  a  well- 
dressed  youth  who  paused  in  front  of  the  show- 
window.  "Well,  maybe  it  would  and  maybe  it 


OPPORTUNITY  55 

wouldn't;  and,  anyhow,  Mr.  Shimko,if  there  wouldn't 
be  no  customers  here,  we  would  anyhow  got  plenty  of 
cutting  to  do.  Besides,  Shimko,  customers  is  like 
sheep.  If  you  get  a  run  of  'em,  one  follows  the  other." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  forenoon  the  two  salesmen 
had  all  the  customers  they  could  manage;  and  as 
Shimko  watched  them  work,  his  face  grew  increasingly 
gloomy. 

"Say,  lookyhere,  Zamp,"  he  said;  "you  are  doing 
here  such  a  big  business,  where  do  I  come  in?" 

"What  d'ye  mean,  where  do  you  come  in?"  Zamp 
asked. 

"Why  the  idee  is  mine  you  should  get  in  a  couple 
salesmen  and  cutters,"  Shimko  began,  "and " 

"What  d'ye  mean,  the  idee  is  yours? "Zamp  re 
joined.  "Ain't  I  got  a  right  to  hire  a  couple  salesmen 
and  cutters  if  I  want  to?" 

"Yes,  but  you  never  would  have  done  so  if  I  ain't 
told  it  you,"  Shimko  said.  "I  ought  to  get  a  rake- 
off  here." 

"You  should  get  a  rake-off  because  my  business  is 
increasing  so  I  got  to  hire  a  couple  salesmen  and 
cutters!"  Zamp  exclaimed.  "What  an  idee!" 

Shimko  paused.  After  all,  he  reflected,  why 
should  he  quarrel  with  Zamp  ?  At  two  o'clock,  when 
he  expected  to  return  with  Meiselson,  if  the  copart 
nership  were  consummated,  he  would  collect  10  per 
cent,  of  the  copartnership  funds  as  the  regular  com 
mission.  Moreover,  he  had  decided  to  refuse  to  con- 


56         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

sent  to  the  transfer  of  the  store  lease  from  Zamp 
individually  to  the  copartnership  of  Zamp  &  Meisel- 
son,  save  at  an  increase  in  rental  of  ten  dollars  a  month. 

"Very  well,  Zamp,"  he  said.  "Maybe  the  idee 
ain't  mine;  but  just  the  same,  I  would  be  back  here  at 
two  o'clock,  and  Meiselson  comes  along." 

With  this  ultimatum  Shimko  started  off  for  Wasser- 
bauer's  Cafe,  and  at  ten  minutes  to  two  he  accom 
panied  Meiselson  down  to  Canal  Street. 

"Yes,  Meiselson,"  Shimko  began,  as  they  ap 
proached  Zamp's  store.  "There's  a  feller  which  he 
ain't  got  no  more  sense  as  you  have,  and  yet  he  is 
doing  a  big  business  anyhow." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  no  more  sense  as  I  got  it?" 
Meiselson  demanded.  "Always  up  to  now  I  got 
sense  enough  to  make  a  living,  and  I  ain't  killed  my 
self  doing  it,  neither!" 

For  the  remainder  of  their  journey  to  Zamp's  store 
Shimko  sulked  in  silence;  but  when  at  length  they 
reached  their  destination  he  exclaimed  aloud: 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  like ? "  he  cried.  "The  place 
is  actually  full  up  with  customers!" 

Zamp's  prediction  had  more  than  justified  itself. 
When  Shimko  and  Meiselson  entered,  he  looked  up 
absently  as  he  handled  the  rolls  of  piece  goods  which 
he  had  purchased,  for  cash,  only  one  hour  previously. 
Moreover,  his  pockets  overflowed  with  money,  for 
every  customer  had  paid  a  deposit  of  at  least  25  per 
cent. 


OPPORTUNITY  57 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Zamp,"  Shimko  cried. 
"This  is  Mr.  Meiselson,  the  gentleman  which  I  am 
speaking  to  you  about.  He  wants  to  go  as  partners 
together  with  you." 

Zamp  ran  his  hand  through  his  dishevelled  hair. 
He  was  more  than  confused  by  his  sudden  accession 
of  trade. 

"You  got  to  excuse  me,  Mr.  Shimko,"  he  said,  "I 
am  very,  very  busy  just  now." 

Shimko  winked  furtively  at  Zamp. 

"Sure,  I  know,"  he  said,  "but  when  could  we  see 
you  later  to-day?" 

"You  couldn't  see  me  later  to-day,"  Zamp  replied. 
"I  am  going  to  work  to-night  getting  out  orders." 

"Naturlich,"  Shimko  rejoined,  "but  couldn't  you 
take  a  cup  coffee  with  us  a  little  later?" 

Zamp  jumped  nervously  as  the  door  opened  to 
admit  another  customer.  The  two  clerks,  supple 
mented  by  a  third  salesman,  who  had  been  hired  by 
telephone,  were  extolling  the  virtues  of  Zamp's  wares 
in  stentorian  tones,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  little 
store  was  fairly  suffocating. 

"I  couldn't  think  of  it,"  Zamp  answered,  and 
turned  to  the  newly  arrived  customer.  "Well,  sir," 
he  cried,  "what  could  I  do  for  you?" 

"Say,  lookyhere,  Zamp,"  Shimko  exploded  angrily, 
"what  is  the  matter  with  you?  I  am  bringing  you 
here  a  feller  which  he  wants  to  go  as  partners  together 
with  you,  and " 


58         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

At  this  juncture  Meiselson  raised  his  right  hand 
like  a  traffic  policeman  at  a  busy  crossing. 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Shimko,"  he  interrupted. 
"You  are  saying  that  I  am  the  feller  which  wants  to 
go  as  partners  together  with  Mr.  Zamp?" 

"Sure!  "Shimko  said. 

"Well,  all  I  got  to  say  is  this,"  Meiselson  replied. 
"I  ain't  no  horse.  Some  people  which  they  got  a 
couple  thousand  dollars  to  invest  would  like  it  they 
should  go  into  a  business  like  this,  and  kill  themselves 
to  death,  Mr.  Shimko,  but  me  not!" 

He  opened  the  store  door  and  started  for  the  street. 

"But,  lookyhere,  Meiselson!"  Shimko  cried  in 
anguished  tones. 

" Koosh,  Mr.  Shimko!"  Meiselson  said.  "I  am  in 
the  soap  and  perfumery  business,  Mr.  Shimko,  and  I 
would  stay  in  it,  too!" 

Six  months  later  Harry  Zamp  sat  in  Dachtel's 
Coffee  House  on  Canal  Street,  and  smoked  a  post 
prandial  cigar.  A  diamond  pin  sparkled  in  his  neck 
tie,  and  his  well-cut  clothing  testified  to  his  complete 
solvency. 

Indeed,  a  replica  of  the  coat  and  vest  hung  in  the 
window  of  his  enlarged  business  premises  on  Canal 
Street,  labelled  "The  Latest  from  the  London  Picka- 
dillies,"  and  he  had  sold,  strictly  for  cash,  more  than 
a  dozen  of  the  same  style  during  the  last  twenty-four 
hours.  For  the  rush  of  trade  which  began  on  the  day 


OPPORTUNITY  59 

when  he  hired  the  "property"  salesmen  and  cutters 
had  not  only  continued  but  had  actually  increased; 
and  it  was  therefore  with  the  most  pleasurable  sen 
sations  that  he  recognized,  at  the  next  table,  Isaac 
Meiselson,  the  unconscious  cause  of  all  his  prosperity. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  began,  "  ain't  your  name  Meisel 
son?" 

"My  name  is  Mr.  Meiselson,"  Isaac  admitted. 
"This  is  Mr.  Zamp,  ain't  it?" 

Zamp  nodded. 

"You  look  pretty  well,  considering  the  way  you 
are  working  in  that  clothing  business  of  yours," 
Meiselson  remarked. 

"Hard  work  never  hurted  me  none,"  Zamp  an 
swered.  "Are  you  still  in  the  soap  and  perfumery 
business,  Mr.  Meiselson?" 

Meiselson  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  went  out  of  the  soap  business 
when  I  got  married  last  month." 

"Is  that  so?"  Zamp  commented.  "And  did  you 
go  into  another  business?" 

"Not  yet,"  Meiselson  replied,  and  then  he  smiled. 
"The  fact  is,"  he  added  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "my 
wife  is  a  dressmaker." 


CHAPTER  THREE 
THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN 

SAY,  lookyhere!"  said  Isaac  Seiden,  proprietor 
of  the  Sanspareil  Waist  Company,  as  he  stood 
in  the  office  of  his  factory  on  Greene  Street; 
"what  is  the  use  your  telling  me  it  is  when  it  ain't? 
My  wife's  mother  never  got  a  brother  by  the  name 
Pesach." 

He  was  addressing  Mrs.  Miriam  Saphir,  who  sat  on 
the  edge  of  the  chair  nursing  her  cheek  with  her  left 
hand.  Simultaneously  she  rocked  to  and  fro  and 
beat  her  forehead  with  her  clenched  fist,  while  at 
intervals  she  made  inarticulate  sounds  through  her 
nose  significant  of  intense  suffering. 

"I  should  drop  dead  in  this  chair  if  she  didn't,"  she 
contended.  "Why  should  I  lie  to  you,  Mr.  Seiden? 
My  own  daughter,  which  I  called  her  Bessie  for  this 
here  Pesach  Gubin,  should  never  got  a  husband  and 
my  other  children  also,  which  one  of  'em  goes  around 
on  crutches  right  now,  Mr.  Seiden,  on  account  she 
gets  knocked  down  by  a  truck." 

"Well,  why  didn't  she  sue  him  in  the  courts  yet?" 
Seiden  asked.  "From  being  knocked  down  by  a 

60 


THE   SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  61 

truck  many  a  rich  feller  got  his  first  start  in  business 
already." 

"Her  luck,  Mr.  Seiden!"  Mrs.  Saphir  cried.  "A 
greenhorn  owns  the  truck  which  it  even  got  a  chattel 
mortgage  on  it.  Such  Schlemazel  my  family  got  it, 
Mr.  Seiden!  If  it  would  be  your  Beckie,  understand 
me,  the  least  that  happens  is  that  a  millionaire  owns 
the  truck  and  he  settles  out  of  court  for  ten  thousand 
dollars  yet.  Some  people,  if  they  would  be  shot  with 
a  gun,  the  bullet  is  from  gold  and  hits  'em  in  the 
pocket  already — such  luck  they  got  it." 

"That  ain't  here  nor  there,  Mrs.  Saphir,"  Seiden 
declared.  "Why  should  I  got  to  give  your  Bessie 
a  job,  when  already  I  got  so  many  people  hanging 
around  my  shop,  half  the  time  they  are  spending 
treading  on  their  toes?" 

"Ai,  tzuris!"  Mrs.  Saphir  wailed.  "My  own 
husband's  Uncle  Pesach  is  from  his  wife  a  cousin  and 
he  asks  me  why!  Who  should  people  look  to  for 
help  if  it  wouldn't  be  their  family,  Mr.  Seiden? 
Should  I  go  and  beg  from  strangers?" 

Here  Mrs.  Saphir  succumbed  to  a  wave  of  self-pity, 
and  she  wept  aloud. 

"Koosh!"  Mr.  Seiden  bellowed.  "What  do  you 
think  I  am  running  here — a  cemetery?  If  you  want 
to  cry  you  should  go  out  on  the  sidewalk." 

"Such  hearts  people  got  it,"  Mrs.  Seiden  sobbed, 
"like  a  piece  from  ice." 

"'S  enough!"  said  Mr.  Seiden.     "I  wasted  enough 


62         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

time  already.  You  took  up  pretty  near  my  whole 
morning,  Mrs.  Saphir;  so  once  and  for  all  I  am  telling 
you  you  should  send  your  Bessie  to  work  as  a  learner 
Monday  morning,  and  if  she  gets  worth  it  I  would 
pay  her  just  the  same  wages  like  anybody  else." 

Mrs.  Saphir  dried  her  eyes  with  the  back  of  her 
hand,  while  Mr.  Seiden  walked  into  his  workroom  and 
slammed  the  door  behind  him  as  evidence  that  the 
interview  was  at  an  end.  When  he  returned  a  few 
minutes  later  Mrs.  Saphir  was  still  there  waiting  for 
him. 

"Well,"  he  demanded,  "what  d'ye  want  of  me 
now?" 

For  answer  Mrs.  Saphir  beat  her  forehead  and 
commenced  to  rock  anew.  "My  last  ten  cents  I  am 
spending  it  for  carfare,"  she  cried. 

"What  is  that  got  to  do  with  me?"  Seiden  asked. 
"  People  comes  into  my  office  and  takes  up  my  whole 
morning  disturbing  my  business,  and  I  should  pay 
'em  carfare  yet?  An  idee! 

"Only  one  way  I  am  asking,"  Mrs.  Saphir  said. 

"I  wouldn't  even  give  you  a  transfer  ticket,"  Mr. 
Seiden  declared,  and  once  more  he  banged  the  door 
behind  him  with  force  sufficient  to  shiver  its  ground- 
glass  panel. 

Mrs.  Saphir  waited  for  an  interval  of  ten  minutes 
and  then  she  gathered  her  shawl  about  her;  and  with 
a  final  adjustment  of  her  crape  bonnet  she  shuffled 
out  rf  the  office. 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  63 

Miss  Bessie  Saphir  was  a  chronic  "learner" — that 
is  to  say,  she  had  never  survived  the  period  of  instruc 
tion  in  any  of  the  numerous  shirt,  cloak,  dress,  and 
clothing  factories  in  which  she  had  sought  employ 
ment;  and  at  the  end  of  her  second  month  in  the 
workshop  of  the  Sanspareil  Waist  Company  she 
appeared  to  know  even  less  about  the  manufacture 
of  waists  than  she  did  at  the  beginning  of  her  first 
week. 

"How  could  any  one  be  so  dumm!"  Philip  Stern- 
silver  cried  as  he  held  up  a  damaged  garment  for  his 
employer's  inspection,  "I  couldn't  understand  at  all. 
That's  the  tenth  waist  Bessie  Saphir  ruins  on  us." 

"Dumm!"  Mr.  Seiden  exclaimed.  "What  d'ye 
mean,  dumb?  You  are  getting  altogether  too  inde 
pendent  around  here,  Sternsilver." 

"  Me — independent ! "  Philip  rejoined.  "  For  what 
reason  I  am  independent,  Mr.  Seiden?  I  don't  under 
stand  what  you  are  talking  about  at  all." 

"No?"  Seiden  said.  "Might  you  don't  know  you 
are  calling  my  wife's  relation  dumb,  Sternsilver? 
From  a  big  mouth  a  feller  like  you  could  get  himself 
into  a  whole  lot  of  trouble." 

"  Me  callingyour  wife's  relation  dumb,  Mr.  Seiden?" 
Sternsilver  cried  in  horrified  accents.  "I  ain't  never 
said  nothing  of  the  sort.  What  I  am  saying  is  that 
that  dummer  cow  over  there — that  Bessie  Saphir — 
is  dumm.  I  ain't  said  a  word  about  your  wife's  re 
lations." 


64         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Loafer!"  Seiden  shouted  in  a  frenzy.  "What 
d'ye  mean?" 

Sternsilver  commenced  to  perspire. 

"What  do  I  mean?"  he  murmured.  "Why,  I  am 
just  telling  you  what  I  mean." 

"If  it  wouldn't  be  our  busy  season,"  Seiden  con 
tinued,  "I  would  fire  you  right  out  of  here  undfertig. 
Did  you  ever  hear  the  like?  Calls  my  wife's  cousin, 
Miss  Bessie  Saphir,  a  dummer  Ochs!" 

"How  should  I  know  she's  your  wife's  cousin,  Mr. 
Seiden  ? "  Sternsilver  protested.  "  Did  she  got  a  label 
on  her?" 

"Gets  fresh  yet!"  Seiden  exclaimed.  "Never 
mind,  Sternsilver.  If  the  learners  is  dumm  it's  the 
foreman's  fault;  and  if  you  couldn't  learn  the  learners 
properly  I  would  got  to  get  another  foreman  which 
he  could  learn,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

He  stalked  majestically  away  while  Sternsilver 
turned  and  gazed  at  the  unconscious  subject  of  their 
conversation.  As  he  watched  her  bending  over  her 
sewing-machine  a  sense  of  injustice  rankled  in  his 
breast,  for  there  could  be  no  doubt  the  epithet  dum 
mer  Ochs,  as  applied  to  Miss  Saphir,  was  not  only 
justified  but  eminently  appropriate. 

Her  wide  cheekbones,  flat  nose,  and  expressionless 
eyes  suggested  at  once  the  calm,  ruminating  cow; 
and  there  was  not  even  lacking  a  piece  of  chewing, 
gum  between  her  slowly  moving  jaws  to  complete 
the  portrait. 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  65 

"A  girl  like  her  should  got  rich  relations  yet,"  he 
murmured  to  himself.  "A  Schnorrer  wouldn't  marry 
her,  not  if  her  uncles  was  Rothschilds  oder  Carnegies. 
You  wouldn't  find  the  mate  to  her  outside  a  dairy 
farm." 

As  he  turned  away,  however,  the  sight  of  Hillel 
Fatkin  wielding  a  pair  of  shears  gave  him  the  lie; 
for,  if  Miss  Bessie  Saphir's  cheekbones  were  broad, 
HilleFs  were  broader.  In  short,  HilleFs  features  com 
pared  to  Bessie's  as  the  head  of  a  Texas  steer  to  that 
of  a  Jersey  heifer. 

Sternsilver  noticed  the  resemblance  with  a  smile 
just  as  Mr.  Seiden  returned  to  the  workroom. 

"Sternsilver,"  he  said,  "ain't  you  got  nothing 
better  to  do  that  you  should  be  standing  around 
grinning  like  a  fool?  Seemingly  you  think  a  foreman 
don't  got  to  work  at  all." 

"I  was  laying  out  some  work  for  the  operators  over 
there,  Mr.  Seiden,"  Philip  replied.  "Oncet  in  a 
while  a  feller  must  got  to  think,  Mr.  Seiden." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  think?"  Seiden  exclaimed. 
"Who  asks  you  you  should  think,  Sternsilver?  You 
get  all  of  a  sudden  such  grossartig  notions.  'Must 
got  to  think,'  sagt  er!  I  am  the  only  one  which  does 
the  thinking  here,  Sternsilver.  Now  you  go  right 
ahead  and  tend  to  them  basters." 

Sternsilver  retired  at  once  to  the  far  end  of  the 
workroom,  where  he  proceeded  to  relieve  his  out 
raged  feeling  by  criticising  Hillel  Fatkin's  work 


66  THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

in  excellent  imitation  of  his  employer's  bullying 
manner. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Sternsilver,  you  are  all 
the  time  picking  on  me  so?"  Hillel  demanded.  "I 
am  doing  my  best  here  and  certainly  if  you  don't  like 
my  work  I  could  quick  go  somewheres  else.  I  ain't 
a  Schnorrer  exactly,  Mr.  Sternsilver.  I  got  in  sav 
ings  bank  already  a  couple  hundred  dollars  which  I 
could  easy  start  a  shop  of  my  own;  so  I  ain't  asking 
no  favours  from  nobody." 

"You  shouldn't  worry  yourself,  Fatkin,"  Stern- 
silver  said.  "Nobody  is  going  to  do  you  no  favours 
around  here.  On  the  contrary,  Fatkin,  the  way  you 
are  ruining  garments  around  here,  sooner  as  do  you 
favours  we  would  sue  you  in  the  courts  yet,  and  you 
could  kiss  yourself  good-bye  with  your  two  hundred 
dollars  in  savings  bank.  Furthermore,  for  an  oper 
ator  you  are  altogether  too  independent,  Fatkin." 

"Maybe  I  am  and  maybe  I  ain't,"  Fatkin  retorted 
with  simple  dignity.  "My  father  was  anyhow  from 
decent,  respectable  people  in  Grodno,  Sternsilver;  and 
even  if  I  wouldn't  got  a  sister  which  she  is  mar 
ried  to  Sam  Kupferberg's  cousin,  y'understand,  Sam 
would  quick  fix  me  up  by  the  Madison  Street  court. 
You  shouldn't  throw  me  no  bluff's,  Sternsilver.  Go 
ahead  and  sue." 

He  waited  for  his  foreman  to  utter  a  suitable  re 
joinder,  but  none  came,  for  in  Fatkin's  disclosure  of 
a  two-hundred-dollar  deposit  in  the  savings  bank 


THE   SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  67 

and  his  sister's  relationship  to  Sam  Kupferberg,  the 
well-known  legal  practitioner  of  Madison  Street, 
Philip  Sternsilver  conceived  a  brilliant  idea. 

"I  ain't  saying  we  would  sue  you  exactly,  under 
stand  me,"  he  replied.  "All  I  am  saying,  Hillel,  is 
you  should  try  and  be  a  little  more  careful  with  your 
work,  y'understand." 

Here  Sternsilver  looked  over  from  Hillel's  bovine 
features  to  the  dull  countenance  of  Miss  Bessie  Saphir. 

"A  feller  which  he  has  got  money  in  the  bank  and 
comes  from  decent,  respectable  people  like  you, 
Hillel,"  he  concluded,  "if  they  work  hard  there  is 
nothing  which  they  couldn't  do,  y'understand.  All 
they  got  to  look  out  for  is  they  shouldn't  Jonah  them 
selves  with  their  bosses,  y'understand." 

"Bosses!"  Hillel  repeated.  "What  d'ye  mean, 
bosses?  Might  you  got  an  idee  you  are  my  boss 
maybe,  Sternsilver?" 

"Me,  I  ain't  saying  nothing  about  it  at  all,"  Stern- 
silver  declared.  "I  am  only  saying  something  which 
it  is  for  your  own  good;  and  if  you  don't  believe  me, 
Hillel,  come  out  with  me  lunch  time  and  have  a  cup 
coffee.  I  got  a  few  words,  something  important,  to 
tell  you." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  forenoon  Sternsilver 
busied  himself  about  the  instruction  of  Miss  Bessie 
Saphir.  Indeed,  so  assiduously  did  he  apply  himself 
to  his  task  that  at  half-past  eleven  Mr.  Seiden  was 
moved  to  indignant  comment.  He  beckoned  Stern- 


68         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

silver  to  accompany  him  to  the  office  and  when  he 
reached  the  door  he  broke  into  an  angry  tirade  • 

"Nu,  Sternsilver,"  he  began,  "ain't  you  got  to  do 
nothing  else  but  learn  that  girl  the  whole  morning? 
What  do  I  pay  a  foreman  wages  he  should  fool  away 
his  time  like  that?" 

"What  d'ye  mean,  fool  away  my  time,  Mr.  Sei- 
den?"  Sternsilver  protested.  "Ain't  you  told  me  I 
should  learn  her  something,  on  account  she  is  a  re 
lation  from  your  wife  already? " 

"Sure,  I  told  you  you  should  learn  her  something," 
Seiden  admitted;  "but  I  ain't  told  you  you  should 
learn  her  everything  in  one  morning  already.  She 
ain't  such  a  close  relation  as  all  that,  y'understand. 
The  trouble  with  you  is,  Sternsilver,  you  don't  use 
your  head  at  all.  A  foreman  must  got  to  think  oncet 
in  a  while,  Sternsilver.  Don't  leave  all  the  thinking 
to  the  boss,  Sternsilver.  I  got  other  things  to 
bother  my  head  over,  Sternsilver,  without  I  should 
go  crazy  laying  out  the  work  in  the  shop  for  the 
foreman." 

Thus  admonished,  Sternsilver  returned  to  the 
workroom  more  strongly  convinced  than  ever  that, 
unless  he  could  carry  out  the  idea  suggested  by  his 
conversation  with  Fatkin,  there  would  be  a  summary 
ending  to  his  job  as  foreman.  As  soon,  therefore, 
as  the  lunch-hour  arrived  he  hustled  Fatkin  to  a 
Bath-brick  dairy  restaurant  and  then  and  there  un 
folded  his  scheme. 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  69 

"Say,  listen  here,  Fatkin,"  he  commenced.  "Why 
don't  a  young  feller  like  you  get  married  ? " 

Fatkin  remained  silent.  He  was  soaking  zwie 
back  in  coffee  and  applying  it  to  his  face  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  greater  part  of  it  filled  his  mouth 
and  rendered  conversation  impossible. 

"There's  many  a  nice  girl,  which  she  could  cook 
herself  and  wash  herself  A  Number  One,  y'under- 
stand,  would  be  only  too  glad  to  get  a  decent,  re 
spectable  feller  like  you,"  Sternsilver  went  on. 

Hillel  Fatkin  acknowledged  the  compliment  by  a 
tremendous  fit  of  coughing,  for  in  his  embarrassment 
he  had  managed  to  inhale  a  crum  of  the  zwieback. 
His  effort  to  remove  it  nearly  strangled  him,  but  at 
length  the  dislodged  particle  found  a  target  in  the 
right  eye  of  an  errand  boy  sitting  opposite.  For 
some  moments  Sternsilver  was  unable  to  proceed, 
by  reason  of  the  errand  boy's  tribute  to  Hillel's  table 
manners.  Indeed,  so  masterly  was  this  example  of 
profane  invective  that  the  manager  of  the  lunch 
room,  without  inquiring  into  the  merits  of  the  con 
troversy,  personally  led  Hillel's  victim  to  the  door 
and  kicked  him  firmly  into  the  gutter.  After  this, 
Philip  Sternsilver  proceeded  with  the  unfolding  of  his 
plan. 

"Yes,  Hillel,"  he  said,  "I  mean  it.  For  a  young 
feller  like  you  even  a  girl  which  she  got  rich  relations 
like  Seiden  ain't  too  good." 

"Seiden?"  Hillel  interrupted,  with  a  supercilious 


70         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

shrug.  "What  is  Seiden?  I  know  his  people  from 
old  times  in  Grodno  yet.  So  poor  they  were,  y'under- 
stand,  his  Grossmutter  would  be  glad  supposing  my 
Grossmutter,  olav  hasholam,  would  send  her  round  a 
couple  pieces  clothing  to  wash.  The  whole  family 
was  beggars — one  worser  as  the  other." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Philip  said;  "but  look  where  he  is 
to-day,  Hillel.  You  got  to  give  him  credit,  Hillel. 
He  certainly  worked  himself  up  wonderful,  and  why? 
Because  the  feller  saves  his  money,  understand  me, 
and  then  he  turns  around  and  goes  to  work  to  pick 
out  a  wife,  and  married  right." 

"What  are  you  talking  nonsense — got  married 
right?"  Hillel  said.  "Do  you  mean  to  told  me  that 
Seiden  is  getting  married  right?  An  idee!  What 
for  a  family  was  all  them  Gubins,  Sternsilver?  The 
one  Uncle  Pesach  was  a  low-life  bum — a  Shikerrer 
which  he  wouldn't  stop  at  nothing,  from  Schnapps 
to  varnish.  Furthermore,  his  father,  y'understand, 
got  into  trouble  once  on  account  he  ganvers  a  couple 
chickens;  and  if  it  wouldn't  be  for  my  Grossvater, 
which  he  was  for  years  a  Rav  in  Telshi — a  very 
learned  man,  Sternsilver — no  one  knows  what  would 
have  become  of  them  people  at  all." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  lunch-hour  Hillel  so 
volubly  demonstrated  himself  to  be  the  Debrett, 
Burke,  and  Almanach  de  Gotha  of  Grodno,  Telshi, 
and  vicinity  that  Sternsilver  was  obliged  to  return 
to  the  factory  with  his  scheme  barely  outlined. 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  71 

Nevertheless,  on  his  journey  back  to  Greene  Street 
he  managed  to  interrupt  Hillel  long  enough  to  ask 
him  if  he  was  willing  to  get  married. 

"I  don't  say  I  wouldn't,"  Hillel  replied,  "supposing 
I  would  get  a  nice  girl.  Aber  one  thing  I  wouldn't 
do,  Sternsilver.  I  wouldn't  take  no  one  which  she 
ain't  coming  from  decent,  respectable  people,  y'under- 
stand;  and  certainly,  if  a  feller  got  a  couple  hundred 
dollars  in  savings  bank,  Sternsilver,  he's  got  a  right 
to  expect  a  little  consideration.  Ain't  it  ? " 

This  ultimatum  brought  them  to  the  door  of 
the  factory,  and  when  they  entered  further  con 
versation  was  summarily  prevented  by  Mr.  Seiden 
himself. 

"Sternsilver,"  Mr.  Seiden  bellowed  at  him,  "where 
was  you?" 

"Couldn't  I  get  oncet  in  a  while  a  few  minutes  I 
should  eat  my  lunch,  Mr.  Seiden?"  Sternsilver  re 
plied.  "I  am  entitled  to  eat,  ain't  I,  Mr.  Seiden?" 

"  Entitled  to  eat,'  sagt  er,  when  the  operators  is 
carrying  on  so  they  pretty  near  tear  the  place  to 
pieces  already!"  Seiden  exclaimed.  "A  foreman 
must  got  to  be  in  the  workroom,  lunch-hour  oder 
no  lunch-hour,  Sternsilver.  Me,  I  do  everything 
here.  I  get  no  assistance  at  all." 

He  walked  off  toward  the  office;  and  after  Stern- 
silver  had  started  up  the  motor,  which  supplied 
power  for  the  sewing-machines,  he  followed  his  em 
ployer. 


72         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Mr.  Seiden,"  he  began,  "I  don't  know  what 
comes  over  you  lately.  Seemingly  nothing  suits  you 
at  all — and  me  I  am  all  the  time  doing  my  very  best 
to  help  you  out."  • 

"Is  that  so?"  Seiden  replied  ironically.  "Since 
when  is  the  foreman  helping  out  the  boss  if  he  would 
go  and  spend  a  couple  hours  for  his  lunch,  making  a 
hog  out  of  himself,  Sternsilver  ? " 

"I  ain't  making  a  hog  out  of  myself,  Mr.  Seiden," 
Philip  continued.  "If  I  am  going  out  of  the  factory 
for  my  lunch,  Mr.  Seiden,  I  got  my  reasons  for 


it." 


Seiden  glared  at  his  foreman  for  some  minutes; 
ordinarily  Sternsilver's  manner  was  diffident  to  the 
point  of  timidity,  and  this  newborn  courage  tempo 
rarily  silenced  Mr.  Seiden. 

"The  way  you  are  talking,  Sternsilver,"  he  said 
at  last,  "to  hear  you  go  on  any  one  would  think  you 
are  the  boss  and  I  am  the  foreman." 

"In  business,  yes,"  Philip  rejoined,  "you  are 
the  boss,  Mr.  Seiden;  but  outside  of  business  a 
man  could  be  a  Mensch  as  well  as  a  foreman.  Ain't 
it?" 

Seiden  stared  at  the  unruffled  Sternsilver,  who 
allowed  no  opportunity  for  a  retort  by  immediately 
going  on  with  his  dissertation. 

"Even  operators  also,"  he  said.  "Hillel  Fatkin 
is  an  operator,  y'understand,  but  he  has  got  anyhow 
a  couple  hundred  dollars  in  the  savings  bank;  and 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  73 

when  it  comes  to  family,  Mr.  Seiden,  he's  from  de 
cent,  respectable  people  in  the  old  country.  His  own 
grandfather  was  a  rabbi,  y'understand." 

"What  the  devil's  that  got  to  do  with  me,  Stern- 
silver?"  Seiden  asked.  "I  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about  at  all." 

Sternsilver  disregarded  the  interruption. 

"Operator  oder  foreman,  Mr.  Seiden,  what  is  the 
difference  when  it  comes  to  a  poor  girl  like  Miss  Bessie 
Saphir,  which,  even  supposing  she  is  a  relation  from 
your  wife,  she  ain't  so  young  no  longer?  Further 
more,  with  some  faces  which  a  girl  got  it  she  could 
have  a  heart  from  gold,  y'understand,  and  what  is 
it  ?  Am  I  right  or  wrong,  Mr.  Seiden  ? " 

Mr.  Seiden  made  no  reply.  He  was  blinking  at 
vacancy  while  his  mind  reverted  to  an  afternoon  call 
paid  uptown  by  Mrs.  Miriam  Saphir.  As  a  corol 
lary,  Mrs.  Seiden  had  kept  him  awake  half  the 
night,  and  the  burden  of  her  jeremiad  was:  "What 
did  you  ever  done  for  my  relations?  Tell  me 
that." 

"Say,  lookyhere,  Sternsilver,"  he  said  at  length, 
"what  are  you  trying  to  drive  into?" 

"I  am  driving  into  this,  Mr.  Seiden,"  Philip  re 
plied:  "Miss  Bessie  Saphir  must  got  to  get  married 
some  time.  Ain't  it  ? " 

Seiden  nodded. 

" Schon  gut!"  Sternsilver  continued.  "There's  no 
time  like  the  present/' 


74         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

A  forced  smile  started  to  appear  on  Seiden's  face, 
when  the  door  leading  to  the  public  hall  opened  and 
a  bonneted  and  shawled  figure  appeared.  It  was 
none  other  than  Mrs.  Miriam  Saphir. 

"Ai9  tzuris!"  she  cried;  and  sinking  into  the  nearest 
chair  she  began  forthwith  to  rock  to  and  fro  and  to 
beat  her  forehead  with  her  clenched  fist. 

"Nu!"  Seiden  exploded.  "What's  the  trouble 
now?" 

Mrs.  Saphir  ceased  rocking.  On  leaving  home  she 
had  provided  herself  with  a  pathetic  story  which 
would  not  only  excuse  her  presence  in  Seiden's  fac 
tory  but  was  also  calculated  to  wring  at  least  seventy- 
five  cents  from  Seiden  himself.  Unfortunately  she 
had  forgotten  to  go  over  the  minor  details  of  the 
narrative  on  her  way  downtown,  and  now  even  the 
main  points  escaped  her  by  reason  of  a  heated  alter 
cation  with  the  conductor  of  a  Third  Avenue  car. 
The  matter  in  dispute  was  her  tender,  in  lieu  of  fare, 
of  a  Brooklyn  transfer  ticket  which  she  had  found 
between  the  pages  of  a  week-old  newspaper.  For  the 
first  ten  blocks  of  her  ride  she  had  feigned  ignorance 
of  the  English  language,  and  five  blocks  more  were 
consumed  in  the  interpretation,  by  a  well-meaning 
passenger,  of  the  conductor's  urgent  demands.  An 
other  five  blocks  passed  in  Mrs.  Saphir's  protesta 
tions  that  she  had  received  the  transfer  in  question 
from  the  conductor  of  a  Twenty-third  Street  car; 
failing  the  accuracy  of  which  statement,  she  expressed 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  75 

the  hope  that  her  children  should  all  drop  dead  and 
that  she  herself  might  never  stir  from  her  seat.  This 
brought  the  car  to  Bleecker  Street,  where  the  con 
ductor  rang  the  bell  and  invited  Mrs.  Saphir  to  alight. 
Her  first  impulse  was  to  defy  him  to  the  point  of 
a  constructive  assault,  with  its  attendant  lawsuit 
against  the  railroad  company;  but  she  discovered 
that,  in  carrying  out  her  project  to  its  successful 
issue,  she  had  already  gone  one  block  past  her  destina 
tion.  Hence  she  walked  leisurely  down  the  aisle; 
and  after  pausing  on  the  platform  to  adjust  her 
shawl  and  bonnet  she  descended  to  the  street  with  a 
parting  scowl  at  the  conductor,  who  immediately 
broke  the  bell-rope  in  starting  the  car. 

"Nu!"  Seiden  repeated.  "Couldn't  you  open 
your  mouth  at  all  ?  What's  the  matter  ? " 

Mrs.  Saphir  commenced  to  rock  tentatively,  but 
Seiden  stopped  her  with  a  loud  "  Koosh!" 

"What  do  you  want  from  me?"  he  demanded. 

"  Meine  Tochter  Bessie,"  she  replied,  "she  don't 
get  on  at  all." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  she  don't  get  on  at  all?"  Seiden 
interrupted.  "Ain't  I  doing  all  I  could  for  her?  I 
am  learning  her  the  business;  and  what  is  more,  Mrs. 
Saphir,!  got  a  feller  which  he  wants  to  marry  her,  too. 
Ain't  that  right,  Sternsilver?" 

Philip  nodded  vigorously  and  Mrs.  Saphir  sat  up 
in  her  chair. 

"Him?"  she  asked. 


76         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Sure;  why  not?"  Seiden  answered. 

"But,  Mr.  Seiden "  Sternsilver  cried. 

" Koosh9  Sternsilver,"  Seiden  said.  "Don't  you 
mind  that  woman  at  all.  If  Bessie  was  my  own 
daughter  even,  I  would  give  my  consent." 

"  Aber,  Mr.  Seiden—  "  Sternsilver  cried  again  in 
anguished  tones,  but  further  protest  was  choked  off 
by  Mrs.  Saphir,  who  rose  from  her  seat  with  surpris 
ing  alacrity  and  seized  Philip  around  the  neck.  For 
several  minutes  she  kissed  him  with  loud  smacking 
noises,  and  by  the  time  he  had  disengaged  himself 
Seiden  had  brought  in  Miss  Bessie  Saphir.  As  she 
blushingly  laid  her  hand  in  Sternsilver's  unresisting 
clasp  Seiden  patted  them  both  on  the  shoulder. 

"For  a  business  man,  Sternsilver,"  he  said,  "long 
engagements  is  nix;  and  to  show  you  that  I  got 
a  heart,  Sternsilver,  I  myself  would  pay  for  the 
wedding,  which  would  be  in  two  weeks  at  the 
latest." 

He  turned  to  Mrs.  Miriam  Saphir. 

"I  congradulate  you,"  he  said.  "And  now  get  out 
of  here!" 

For  the  next  ten  days  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seiden  and 
Miss  Saphir  were  so  busy  with  preparations  for  the 
wedding  that  they  had  no  leisure  to  observe  Stern- 
silver's  behaviour.  He  proved  to  be  no  ardent  swain; 
and,  although  Bessie  was  withdrawn  from  the  factory 
on  the  day  following  her  betrothal,  Sternsilver  called 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  77 

at  her  residence  only  twice  during  the  first  week  of 
their  engagement. 

"I  didn't  think  the  feller  got  so  much  sense,"  Sei- 
den  commented  when  Bessie  Saphir  complained  of 
Philip's  coldness. 

"He  sees  you  got  your  hands  full  getting  ready, 
so  he  don't  bother  you  at  all." 

As  for  Seiden,  he  determined  to  spare  no  expense, 
up  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  in  making  the 
wedding  festivites  greatly  redound  to  his  credit  both 
socially  and  in  a  business  way. 

To  that  end  he  had  dispatched  over  a  hundred 
invitations  to  the  wholesale  houses  from  which  he 
purchased  goods. 

4" You  see  what  I  am  doing  for  you,"  he  said  to 
Sternsilver  one  morning,  a  week  before  the  wedding 
day.  "Not  only  in  postage  stamps  I  am  spending 
my  money  but  the  printing  also  costs  me  a  whole  lot, 
too,  I  bet  yer." 

"What  is  the  use  spending  money  for  printing 
when  you  got  a  typewriter  which  she  is  setting  half 
the  time  doing  nothing,  Mr.  Seiden?"  Philip  pro 
tested. 

"That's  what  I  told  Mrs.  Seiden,"  his  employer 
replied,  "and  she  goes  pretty  near  crazy.  She  even 
wanted  me  I  should  got  'em  engraved,  so  grossartig 
she  becomes  all  of  a  sudden.  Printing  is  good  enough, 
Sternsilver.  Just  lookyhere  at  this  now,  how  elegant 


it  is.  " 


78         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

He  handed   Philip   an  invitation  which  read   as 
follows : 


MR.  AND  MRS.  I.  SEIDEN  AND  MRS.  MIRIAM  SAPHIR 

REQUEST  THE  HONOUR  OF 

THE  INTERCOLONIAL  TEXTILE  COMPANY'S 

PRESENCE  AT  THE  MARRIAGE  OF  HER  DAUGHTER 

BESSIE 

TO 

MR.   PHILIP  STERNSILVER 

ON  THURSDAY,   DECEMBER    l6,    1909,   AT    SIX    O'CLOCK 
NEW    RIGA    HALL,    £22    ALLEN    STREET,    NEW    YORK 

Bride's  Address: 
c/o  SANSPAREIL  WAIST  COMPANY 

ISAAC  SEIDEN,  Proprietor 

Waists  in  Marquisette,  Voile,  Lingerie, 

Crepe  and  Novelty  Silks 

also  a  Full  Line  of 
Lace  and  Hand-embroidered  Waists 

800  GREENE  STREET,  NEW  YORK   CITY 


"What's  the  use  you  are  inviting  a  corporation  to  a 
wedding,  Mr.  Seiden?"  Philip  said  as  he  returned 
the  invitation  with  a  heavy  sigh.  "A  corporation 
couldn't  eat  nothing,  Mr.  Seiden." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Seiden  replied.  "I  ain't  asking 
'em  they  should  eat  anything,  Sternsilver.  All  I  am 
wanting  of  'em  is  this:  Here  it  is  in  black  and  white. 
Me  and  Beckie  and  that  old  Schnorrer,  Mrs.  Saphir, 
requests  the  honour  of  the  Intercolonial  Company's 
presents  at  the  marriage  of  their  daughter.  You 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  79 

should  know  a  corporation's  presents  is  just  as  good 
as  anybody  else's  presents,  Sternsilver.  Ain't  it?" 

Sternsilver  nodded  gloomily. 

"Also  I  am  sending  invitations  to  a  dozen  of  my 
best  customers  and  to  a  couple  of  high-price  sales 
men.  Them  fellers  should  loosen  up  also  oncet  in  a 
while.  Ain't  I  right?" 

Again  Sternsilver  nodded  and  returned  to  the  fac 
tory  where,  at  hourly  intervals  during  the  following 
week,  Seiden  accosted  him  and  issued  bulletins  of 
the  arrival  of  wedding  presents  and  the  acceptance  of 
invitations  to  the  ceremony. 

"What  do  you  think  for  a  couple  of  small  potatoes 
like  Kugel  &  Mishkin  ? "  he  said.  "  If  I  bought  a  cent 
from  them  people  during  the  last  five  years  I  must  of 
bought  three  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  buttons;  and 
they  got  the  nerve  to  send  a  half  a  dozen  coffee  spoons, 
which  they  are  so  light,  y'understand,  you  could 
pretty  near  see  through  'em." 

Sternsilver  received  this  news  with  a  manner  sug 
gesting  a  cramped  swimmer  coming  up  for  the  second 
time. 

"Never  mind,  Sternsilver,"  Seiden  continued  reas 
suringly,  "we  got  a  whole  lot  of  people  to  hear  from 
yet.  I  bet  yer  the  Binder  &  Baum  Manufacturing 
Company,  the  least  you  get  from  'em  is  a  piece  of 
cut  glass  which  it  costs,  at  wholesale  yet,  ten  dol 
lars." 

Sternsilver's  distress  proceeded  from  another  cause, 


80         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

however;  for  that  very  morning  he  had  made  a  des 
perate  resolve,  which  was  no  less  than  to  leave  the 
Borough  of  Manhattan  and  to  begin  life  anew  in 
Philadelphia.  From  the  immediate  execution  of  the 
plan  he  was  deterred  only  by  one  circumstance — 
lack  of  funds;  and  this  he  proposed  to  overcome  by 
borrowing  from  Fatkin.  Indeed,  when  he  pondered 
the  situation,  he  became  convinced  that  Fatkin,  as 
the  cause  of  his  dilemma,  ought  to  be  the  means  of  his 
extrication.  He  therefore  broached  the  matter  of  a 
loan  more  in  the  manner  of  a  lender  than  a  borrower. 
"Say,  lookyhere,  Fatkin/'  he  said  on  the  day  before 
the  wedding,  "I  got  to  have  some  money  right 
away." 

Fatkin  shrugged  philosophically. 

"A  whole  lot  of  fellers  feels  the  same  way,"  he  said. 

"Only  till  Saturday  week,"  Sternsilver  continued, 
"  and  I  want  you  should  give  me  twenty-five  dollars." 

"Me?  "Fatkin  exclaimed. 

"Sure,  you,"  Sternsilver  said;  "and  I  want  it  now." 

"Don't  make  me  no  jokes,  Sternsilver,"  Fatkin 
replied. 

"I  ain't  joking,  Fatkin;  far  from  it,"  Sternsilver 
declared.  "To-morrow  it  is  all  fixed  for  the  wedding 
and  I  got  to  have  twenty-five  dollars." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  to-morrow  is  fixed  for  the 
wedding?"  Fatkin  retorted  indignantly.  "Do  you 
want  to  get  married  on  my  money  yet?" 

"  I  don't  want  the  money  to  get  married  on,"  Stern- 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  81 

silver  protested.  "I  want  it  for  something  else 
again." 

"My  worries!  What  you  want  it  for?"  Fatkin 
concluded,  with  a  note  of  finality  in  his  tone.  "I 
would  oser  give  you  twenty-five  cents." 

"'S  enough,  Fatkin!"  Sternsilver  declared.  "I 
heard  enough  from  you  already.  You  was  the  one 
which  got  me  into  this  Schlemazel  and  now  you  should 
get  me  out  again." 

"What  do  you  mean,  getting  you  into  a  Schle 
mazel?" 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,"  Philip  re 
plied;  "and,  furthermore,  Fatkin,  you  are  trying  to 
make  too  free  with  me.  Who  are  you,  anyhow,  you 
should  turn  me  down  when  I  ask  you  for  a  few  days 
twenty-five  dollars?  You  act  so  independent,  like 
you  would  be  the  foreman." 

Hillel  nodded  slowly,  not  without  dignity. 

"Never  mind,  Sternsilver,"  he  said;  "if  my  family 
would  got  a  relation,  y'understand,  which  he  is  work 
ing  in  PoliakofFs  Bank  and  he  is  got  to  run  away  on 
account  he  is  missing  in  five  thousand  rubles,  which  it 
is  the  same  name  Sternsilver,  and  everybody  in  Kovno 
— the  children  even — knows  about  it,  understand  me, 
I  wouldn't  got  to  be  so  stuck  up  at  all." 

Sternsilver  flushed  indignantly. 

"Do  you  mean  to  told  me,"  he  demanded,  "that  I 
got  in  my  family  such  a  man  which  he  is  stealing  five 
thousand  rubles,  Fatkin?" 


82         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"That's  what  I  said,"  Hillel  retorted. 

"Well,  it  only  goes  to  show  what  a  liar  you  are," 
Sternsilver  rejoined.  "Not  only  was  it  he  stole  ten 
thousand  rubles,  y'understand,  but  the  bank  was  run 
by  a  feller  by  the  name  Louis  Moser." 

"All  right,"  Fatkin  said  as  he  started  up  his  sewing- 
machine  by  way  of  signifying  that  the  interview  was 
at  an  end.  "All  right,  Sternsilver;  if  you  got  such  a 
relation  which  he  ganvered  ten  thousand  rubles,  y'un. 
derstand,  borrow  from  him  the  twenty-five  dollars." 

Thus  Sternsilver  was  obliged  to  amend  his  reso 
lution  by  substituting  Jersey  City  for  Philadelphia  as 
the  seat  of  his  new  start  in  life;  and  at  half-past  eleven 
that  evening,  when  the  good  ferryboat  Cincinnati 
drew  out  of  her  slip  at  the  foot  of  Desbrosses  Street,  a 
short,  thick-set  figure  leaned  over  her  bow  and  gazed 
sadly,  perhaps  for  the  last  time,  at  the  irregular  sky 
line  of  Manhattan.  It  was  Sternsilver. 

When  Mr.  Seiden  arrived  at  his  factory  the  follow 
ing  morning  he  found  his  entire  force  of  operators 
gathered  on  the  stairway  and  overflowing  on  to  the 
sidewalk . 

"What  is  the  matter  you  are  striking  on  me?"  he 
cried. 

"Striking!"  Hillel  Fatkin  said.  "What  do  you 
mean,  striking  on  you,  Mr.  Seiden  ?  We  ain't  striking. 
Sternsilver  ain't  come  down  this  morning  and  nobody 
was  here  he  should  open  up  the  shop." 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  83 

"Do  you  mean  to  told  me  Sternsilver  ain't  here?" 
Seiden  exclaimed. 

"All  right;  then  I'm  a  liar,  Mr.  Seiden,"  Hillel 
replied.  "You  asked  me  a  simple  question,  Mr. 
Seiden,  and  I  give  you  a  plain,  straightforward 
answer.  My  Grossvater,  olav  hasholam,  which  he  was 
a  very  learned  man — for  years  a  rabbi  in  Telshi — 
used  to  say:  'If  some  one  tells  you  you  are  lying, 
understand  me,  and — 

At  this  juncture  Seiden  opened  the  factory  door 
and  the  entire  mob  of  workmen  plunged  forward, 
sweeping  Hillel  along,  with  his  quotation  from  the 
ethical  maxims  of  his  grandfather  only  half  finished. 
For  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  Seiden  busied  himself 
in  starting  up  his  factory  and  then  he  repaired  to  the 
office  to  open  the  mail. 

In  addition  to  three  or  four  acceptances  of  in 
vitations  there  was  a  dirty  envelope  bearing  on  its 
upper  left-hand  corner  the  mark  of  a  third-rate  Jersey 
City  hotel.  Seiden  ripped  it  open  and  unfolded  a  sheet 
of  letter  paper  badly  scrawled  in  Roman  capitals  as 
follows : 

"December  12. 
"I.  SEIDEN: 

"We  are  come  to  tell  you  which  Mr.  Philip  Sternsilver 
is  gone  out  West  to  Kenses  Citter.  So  don't  fool  your 
self  he  would  not  be  at  the  wedding.  What  do  you  think 
a  fine  man  like  him  would  marry  such  a  cow  like  Miss 
Bessie  Saphir?  «And  obHge  yours  tmly> 

"A.  WELLWISHER.' 


84         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

For  at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  reading  the 
letter  Mr.  Seiden  sat  in  his  office  doing  sums  in 
mental  arithmetic.  He  added  postage  on  invitations 
to  cost  of  printing  same  and  carried  the  result  in  his 
mind;  next  he  visualized  in  one  column  the  sum  paid 
for  furnishing  Bessie's  flat,  the  price  of  Mrs.  Seiden's 
new  dress — estimated;  caterers'  fees  for  serving  dinner 
and  hire  of  New  Riga  Hall.  The  total  fairly  stunned 
him,  and  for  another  quarter  of  an  hour  he  remained 
seated  in  his  chair.  Then  came  the  realization  that 
twenty-five  commission  houses,  two  high-grade  drum 
mers,  and  at  least  five  customers,  rating  L  to  J  credit 
good,  were  even  then  preparing  to  attend  a  groomless 
wedding;  and  he  spurred  himself  to  action. 

He  ran  to  the  telephone,  but  as  he  grabbed  the 
receiver  from  the  hook  he  became  suddenly  motion 
less. 

" Nu,"  he  murmured  after  a  few  seconds.  "Why 
should  I  make  a  damn  fool  of  myself  and  disappoint 
all  them  people  for  a  greenhorn  like  Sternsilver?" 

Once  more  he  sought  his  chair,  and  incoherent 
plans  for  retrieving  the  situation  chased  one  another 
through  his  brain  until  he  felt  that  his  intellect  was 
giving  way.  It  was  while  he  was  determining  to 
call  the  whole  thing  off  that  Hillel  Fatkin  entered. 

"Mr.  Seiden,"  he  said,  "could  I  speak  to  you  a  few 
words  something?" 

He  wore  an  air  of  calm  dignity  that  only  a  long 
rnhbinical  ancestry  can  give,  and  his  errand  in  his 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  85 

employer's  office  was  to  announce  his  impending 
resignation,  as  a  consequence  of  Seiden's  offensive 
indifference  to  the  memory  of  HilleFs  grandfather. 
When  Seiden  looked  up,  however,  his  mind  reverted 
not  to  Hillel's  quotation  of  his  grandfather's  maxims, 
but  to  Sternsilver's  conversation  on  the  day  of  the 
betrothal;  and  HillePs  dignity  suggested  to  him, 
instead  of  distinguished  ancestry,  a  savings-bank 
account  of  two  hundred  dollars.  He  jumped  im 
mediately  to  his  feet. 

"Sit  down,  Fatkin,"  he  cried. 

Hillel  seated  himself  much  as  his  grandfather  might 
have  done  in  the  house  of  an  humble  disciple,  blend 
ing  dignity  and  condescension  in  just  the  right  pro 
portions. 

"So,"  he  said,  referring  to  Mr.  Seiden's  supposed 
contrition  for  the  affront  to  the  late  rabbi,  "when  it 
is  too  late,  Mr.  Seiden,  you  are  sorry." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sorry?"  Mr.  Seiden  replied. 
"Believe  me,  Fatkin,  I  am  glad  to  be  rid  of  the 
feller.  I  could  get  just  as  good  foremen  as  him 
without  going  outside  this  factory  even — for  instance, 
you." 

"Me!"  Fatkin  cried. 

"Sure;  why  not?"  Seiden  continued.  "A  foreman 
must  got  to  be  fresh  to  the  operators,  anyhow;  and  if 
you  ain't  fresh,  Fatkin,  I  don't  know  who  is." 

"Me fresh!"  Fatkin  exclaimed. 

"I  ain't  kicking  you  are  too  fresh,  y'understand," 


86         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Seiden  said.  "  I  am  only  saying  you  are  fresh  enough 
to  be  a  foreman." 

Fatkin  shrugged.  "Very  well,  Mr.  Seiden,"  he 
said  in  a  manner  calculated  to  impress  Seiden  with 
the  magnitude  of  the  favour.  "Very  well;  if  you 
want  me  to  I  would  go  to  work  as  foreman  for  you." 

Seiden  with  difficulty  suppressed  a  desire  to  kick 
Hillel  and  smiled  blandly. 

"Schon  gut"  he  said.  "You  will  go  to  work  Mon 
day  morning." 

"Why  not  to-day,  Mr.  Seiden?"  Hillel  asked. 

Seiden  smiled  again  and  this  time  it  was  not  so 
bland  as  it  was  mechanical,  suggesting  the  pulling  of 
an  invisible  string. 

"  Because,  Fatkin,  you  are  going  to  be  too  busy  to 
day,"  Seiden  replied.  "A  feller  couldn't  start  in  to 
work  as  a  foreman  and  also  get  married  all  in  one 
day." 

Hillel  stared  at  his  employer. 

"Me  get  married,  Mr.  Seiden!  What  are  you  talk 
ing  nonsense,  Mr.  Seiden  ?  I  ain't  going  to  get  mar 
ried  at  all." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are,  Fatkin,"  Seiden  replied.  "You 
are  going  to  get  married  to  Miss  Bessie  Saphir  at  New 
Riga  Hall,  on  Allen  Street,  to-night,  six  o'clock  sharp; 
otherwise  you  wouldn'  t  go  to  work  as  foreman  at 
all." 

Hillel  rose  from  his  chair  and  then  sat  down  again. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  told  me  I  must  got  to  marry  Miss 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  8? 

Bessie  Saphir  before  I  can  go  to  work  as  foreman  ? "  he 
demanded. 

"You  got  it  right,  Fatkin,"  Seiden  said. 

"Then  I  wouldn't  do  no  such  thing,"  Fatkin  re 
torted  and  made  for  the  door. 

"Hold  on!"  Seiden  shouted,  seizing  Fatkin  by  the 
arm.  "  Don't  be  a  fool,  Fatkin.  What  are  you  throw 
ing  away  a  hundred  dollars  cash  for?" 

"Me  throw  away  a  hundred  dollars  cash?"  Fatkin 
blurted  out. 

"Sure,"  Seiden  answered.  "If  you  would  marry 
Miss  Bessie  Saphir  you  would  not  only  get  by  me  a 
job  as  foreman,  but  also  I  am  willing  to  give  you  a 
hundred  dollars  cash." 

Fatkin  returned  to  the  office  and  again  sat  down 
opposite  his  employer. 

"Say, lookyhere, Mr. Seiden, "he said, "I want  to  tell 
you  something.  You  are  springing  on  me  suddenly 
a  proposition  which  it  is  something  you  could  really 
say  is  remarkable.  Ain't  it?" 

Seiden  nodded. 

"Miss  Bessie  Saphir,  which  she  is  anyhow — her  own 
best  friend  would  got  to  admit  it — homely  like  any 
thing,  Mr.  Seiden,"  Fatkin  continued,  "is  going  to 
marry  Sternsilver;  and  just  because  Sternsilver  runs 
away,  I  should  jump  in  and  marry  her  like  I  would  be 
nobody!" 

Seiden  nodded  again. 

"Another  thing,   Mr.   Seiden,"   Hillel  went  on. 


88         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"What  is  a  hundred  dollars?  My  Grossvater,  olav 
hasholam — which  he  was  a  very  learned  man,  for 
years  a  rabbi  in  Telshi " 

"  Sure,  I  know,  Fatkin,"  Seiden  interrupted.  "  You 
told  me  that  before." 

" — for  years  a  rabbi  in  Telshi,"  Hillel  repeated,  not 
deigning  to  notice  the  interruption  save  by  a  malevo 
lent  glare,  "used  to  say:  'Soon  married,  quick  di 
vorced/  Why  should  I  bring  tzuris  on  myself  by 
doing  this  thing,  Mr.  Seiden?" 

Seiden  treated  the  question  as  rhetorical  and  made 
no  reply. 

"Also  I  got  in  bank  nearly  three  hundred  dollars, 
Mr.  Seiden,"  he  concluded;  "and  even  if  I  was  a 
feller  which  wouldn't  be  from  such  fine  family  in  the 
old  country,  understand  me,  three  hundred  dollars  is 
three  hundred  dollars,  Mr.  Seiden,  and  that's  all  there 


is  to  it." 


Seiden  pondered  deeply  for  a  minute. 

"All  right,  Fatkin,"  he  said;  "make  it  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  undfertig" 

"Three  hundred  dollars  oder  nothing!"  Fatkin  re 
plied  firmly;  and  after  half  an  hour  of  more  or  less  acrid 
discussion  Fatkin  agreed  to  accept  Miss  Bessie  Saphir 
plus  three  hundred  dollars  and  a  job  as  foreman. 

An  inexplicable  phase  of  the  criminal's  character 
is  the  instinct  which  impels  him  to  revisit  the  scene  of 
his  crime;  and,  whether  he  was  led  thither  by  a  desire 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  89 

to  gloat  or  by  mere  vulgar  curiosity,  Philip  Stern- 
silver  slunk  within  the  shadow  of  an  L-road  pillar  on 
Allen  Street  opposite  New  Riga  Hall  promptly  at 
half-past  five  that  evening. 

First  to  arrive  was  Isaac  Seiden  himself.  He  bore 
a  heavily  laden  suitcase,  and  his  face  was  distorted 
in  an  expression  of  such  intense  gloom  that  Stern- 
silver  almost  found  it  in  his  heart  to  be  sorry  for  his 
late  employer. 

Mrs.  Seiden,  Miss  Bessie  Saphir,  and  Mrs.  Miriam 
Saphir  next  appeared.  They  were  chattering  in  an 
animated  fashion  and  passed  into  the  hall  in  a  gale  of 
laughter. 

"Must  be  he  didn't  told  'em  yet,"  Sternsilver  mut 
tered  to  himself. 

Then  came  representatives  of  commission  houses 
and  several  L  to  J  customers  attired  in  appropriate 
wedding  finery;  and  as  they  entered  the  hall  Stern- 
silver  deemed  that  the  pertinent  moment  for  dis 
appearing  had  arrived.  He  left  hurriedly  before  the 
advent  of  two  high-grade  salesmen,  or  he  might  have 
noticed  in  their  wake  the  dignified  figure  of  Hillel 
Fatkin,  arrayed  in  a  fur  overcoat,  which  covered  a 
suit  of  evening  clothes  and  was  surmounted  by  a  high 
silk  hat.  Hillel  walked  slowly,  as  much  in  the  reali 
zation  that  haste  was  unbecoming  to  a  bridegroom  as 
on  account  of  his  patent-leather  shoes,  which  were 
half  a  size  too  small  for  him;  for  the  silk  hat,  fur 
overcoat,  patent-leather  shoes,  and  dress  suit  were  all 


9o         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

hired,  and  formed  Combination  Wedding  Outfit  No. 
6  in  the  catalogue  of  the  Imperial  Dress-suit  Par 
lour  on  Rivington  Street.  It  was  listed  at  five  dollars 
a  wedding,  but  the  proprietress,  to  whom  Hillel  had 
boasted  of  his  rabbinical  ancestry,  concluded  to  allow 
him  a  clerical  discount  of  20  per  cent,  when  he  hesi 
tated  between  his  ultimate  selection  and  the  three- 
dollar  Combination  No.  4,  which  did  not  include  the 
fur  overcoat. 

The  extra  dollar  was  well  invested,  for  the  effect  of 
Combination  No.  6  upon  Miss  Bessie  Saphir  proved 
to  be  electrical.  At  first  sight  of  it,  she  dismissed  for 
ever  the  memory  of  the  fickle  Sternsilver,  who,  at  the 
very  moment  when  Bessie  and  Hillel  were  plighting 
their  troth,  regaled  himself  with  mohnkuchen  and 
coffee  at  a  neighbouring  cafe. 

He  sat  in  an  obscure  corner  behind  the  lady  cashier's 
desk;  and  as  he  consumed  his  supper  with  hearty 
appetite  he  could  not  help  overhearing  the  conver 
sation  she  was  carrying  on  with  a  rotund  personage 
who  was  none  other  than  Sam  Kupferberg,  the  well- 
known  Madison  Street  advocate. 

"For  a  greenhorn  like  him,"  said  Sam,  "he  cer 
tainly  done  well.  He  ain't  been  in  the  place  a  year, 
y'understand,  and  to-night  he  marries  a  relation  of  his 
boss  and  he  gets  a  job  as  foreman  and  three  hun 
dred  dollars  in  the  bargain." 

The  cashier  clucked  with  her  tongue.  "S'imagine!" 
she  commented. 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  91 

"Mind  you,"  Sam  continued,  "only  this  afternoon 
yet,  Seiden  tells  him  he  should  marry  the  girl,  as  this 
other  feller  backed  out;  and  he  stands  out  for  three 
hundred  dollars,  y'understand,  and  a  job  as  foreman. 
What  could  Seiden  do  ?  He  had  to  give  in,  and  they're 
being  married  right  now  in  New  Riga  Hall." 

"S*  imagine!"  the  cashier  said  again,  adjusting  her 
pompadour. 

"And,  furthermore,"  Sam  continued,  "the  girl  is  a 
relation  of  Seiden's  wife,  y'understand." 

"My  Gawd,  ketch  him!"  the  cashier  exclaimed; 
and  Sam  Kupferberg  grabbed  Philip  Sternsilver  just 
as  he  was  disappearing  into  the  street.  It  was  some 
minutes  before  Philip  could  be  brought  to  realize  that 
he  owed  ten  cents  for  his  supper,  but  when  he  was  at 
length  released  he  made  up  for  lost  time.  His  prog 
ress  down  Allen  Street  was  marked  by  two  overturned 
pushcarts  and  a  trail  of  tumbled  children;  and,  de 
spite  this  havoc,  when  he  arrived  at  New  Riga  Hall 
the  ceremony  was  finished  by  half  an  hour  or 
more. 

Indeed,  the  guests  were  gathered  about  the  supper 
table  and  soup  had  just  been  served,  when  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  hall  tiptoed  to  the  bridal  table  and 
whispered  in  Isaac  Seiden's  ear: 

"A  feller  by  the  name  of  Sternsilver  wants  to  speak 
a  few  words  something  to  you,"  he  said. 

Seiden  turned  pale,  and  leaving  half  a  plateful  of 
soup  uninhaled  he  rose  from  the  table  and  followed 


92         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

the  proprietor  to  the  latter's  private  office.     There  sat 
Philip  Sternsilver  gasping  for  breath. 

"(Murderer!"  he  shouted  as  Seiden  entered.  "You 
are  shedding  my  blood." 

" Kooshy  Sternsilver!"  Seiden  hissed.  "Ain't  you 
got  no  shame  for  the  people  at  all?" 

"Where  is  my  Bessie — my  life?"  Sternsiiver  wailed. 
"Without  you  are  making  any  inquiries  at  all  you  are 
marrying  her  to  a  loafer.  Me,  I  am  nothing!  What 
is  it  to  you  I  am  pretty  near  killed  in  the  street  last 
night  and  must  got  to  go  to  a  hospital!  For  years  I 
am  working  for  you  already,  day  in,  day  out,  with 
out  I  am  missing  a  single  forenoon  even — and  you 
are  treating  me  like  this!" 

It  was  now  Seiden's  turn  to  gasp. 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  he  cried,  searching  in  his  coat 
pocket.  "Ain't  you  wrote  me  this  here  letter?" 

He  produced  the  missive  received  by  him  that 
morning  and  handed  it  to  Sternsilver,  who,  unnoticed 
by  the  excited  Seiden,  returned  it  without  even  glanc 
ing  at  its  contents. 

"I  never  seen  it  before,"  he  declared.  "Why 
should  I  write  printing?  Don't  you  suppose  I  can 
write  writing,  Mr.  Seiden?" 

"Who  did  send  it,  then?"  Seiden  asked. 

"It  looks  to  me" — said  Sternsilver,  who  grew 
calmer  as  Seiden  became  more  agitated — "it  looks 
to  me  like  that  sucker  Fatkin  writes  it." 

"What!"  Seiden  yelled.     "And  me  I  am  paying 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN  93 

him  cash  three  hundred  dollars  he  should  marry  that 
girl!  Even  a  certified  check  he  wouldn't  accept." 

Although  this  information  was  not  new  to  Stern- 
silver,  to  hear  it  thus  at  first  hand  seemed  to  infuriate 
him. 

"What!"  he  howled.  "You  are  giving  that  green 
horn  three  hundred  dollars  yet  to  marry  such  a  beauti 
ful  girl  like  my  Bessie!" 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  rocked  to  and 
fro  in  his  chair. 

"Never  mind,  Sternsilver,"  Seiden  said  comfort 
ingly;  "you  shouldn't  take  on  so — she  ain't  so  beauti 
ful;  and,  as  for  that  feller  Fatkin " 

"You  are  talking  about  me,  Mr.  Seiden?"  said  a 
voice  in  the  doorway. 

Sternsilver  looked  up  and  once  again  Wedding 
Outfit  Combination  No.  6  conquered;  for  assuredly, 
had  Fatkin  been  arrayed  in  his  working  clothes,  he 
would  have  suffered  a  personal  assault  at  the  hands  of 
his  late  foreman. 

"Mr.  Seiden,"  Fatkin  continued,  "never  mind;  I 
could  stand  it  somebody  calls  me  names,  but  Mr. 
Latz  wants  to  know  what  is  become  of  you  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour.  Mr.  Latz  tells  me  during  Novem 
ber  alone  he  buys  from  us  eight  hundred  dollars 
goods." 

"Us!"  Seiden  cried,  employing  three  inflections  to 
the  monosyllable. 

Before    Seiden    could    protest    further,    however, 


94         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Sternsilver  had  recovered  from  the  partial  hypnosis 
of  Combination  No.  6,  and  he  gave  tongue  like  a  fox 
hound: 

"Oe-ee  tzuris  /"  he  wailed. 

" Koosh  !"  Fatkin  cried,  closing  the  door.  "What 
do  you  want  here?" 

"You  know  what  I  want,"  Sternsilver  sobbed. 
"You  are  stealing  from  me  three  hundred  dollars." 

Fatkin  turned  to  Seiden  and  gazed  at  him  reproach 
fully. 

"Mr.  Seiden,"  he  said,  "what  for  you  are  telling 
me  that  Sternsilver  wouldn't  get  a  cent  with  Bessie  ? 
And  you  are  trying  to  get  me  I  should  be  satisfied 
with  a  hundred  dollars  yet.  Honestly,  Mr.  Seiden,  I 
am  surprised  at  you." 

" Schmooes,  Fatkin!"  Seiden  protested.  "I  never 
promised  to  give  him  nothing.  Dreams  he  got  it." 

Sternsilver  rose  from  his  seat. 

"Do  you  mean  to  told  me  that  a  greenhorn  like 
him  you  would  give  three  hundred  dollars,"  he  asked, 
"and  me  you  wouldn't  give  nothing?" 

"You!"  Fatkin  bellowed.  "What  are  you?  You 
are  coming  to  me  throwing  a  bluff  that  you  got  a 
relation  by  the  name  of  Sternsilver,  which  he  ganvers 
ten  thousand  rubles  from  Moser's  Bank,  in  Kovno; 
and  this  afternoon  yet,  I  find  out  the  feller's  name 
was  Steinsilver — not  Sternsilver;  which  he  ain't  got  a 
relation  in  the  world,  y'understand.  Faker!" 

Sternsilver  nodded  his  head  slowly. 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN          95 

"Faker,  am  I?"  he  said.  "All  right,  Mr.  Fatkin; 
if  I  am  a  faker  I  will  show  you  what  I  would  do.  You 
and  this  here  Seiden  fix  it  up  between  you,  because  I 
am  all  of  a  sudden  sick  in  the  hospital,  that  you  steal 
away  my  Bessie  and  the  three  hundred  dollars  also. 
Schon  gut!  I  would  sue  you  both  in  the  courts  und 
fertig!" 

"Sternsilver  is  right,  in  a  way,"  Seiden  said,  "even 
though  he  is  a  bum.  What  for  did  you  write  me  this 
letter,  Fatkin?" 

"Me  write  you  that  letter,  Mr.  Seiden!"  Fatkin 
protested  as  he  looked  at  the  document  in  question. 
"Why,  Mr.  Seiden,  I  can't  write  printing.  It  is  all 
I  can  do  to  write  writing.  And,  besides,  Mr.  Sei 
den,  until  you  are  telling  me  about  getting  married, 
the  idee  never  enters  my  head  at  all." 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  Fatkin's  sincerity,  and 
Seiden  turned  to  Sternsilver  with  a  threatening  gesture. 

"Out!"  he  cried.  "Out  of  here  before  I  am  send 
ing  for  a  policeman  to  give  you  arrested." 

"Don't  make  me  no  bluffs,  Seiden!"  Sternsilver 
answered  calmly.  "Either  you  would  got  to  settle 
with  me  now  oder  I  would  go  right  upstairs  and  tell 
them  commission  houses  and  customers  which  you  got 
there  all  about  it.  What  do  you  take  me  for,  Seiden 
— a  greenhorn?" 

"Fatkin,"  Seiden  commanded,  "do  you  hear  what 
I  am  telling  you?  Take  this  loafer  and  throw  him 
into  the  street." 


96         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Me?"  Fatkin  said.  "What  are  you  talking 
nonsense,  Mr.  Seiden?  I  should  throw  him  into  the 
street  when  I  am  standing  to  lose  on  the  coat  alone 
ten  dollars!" 

Seiden  looked  at  Fatkin  and  the  validity  of  his 
objection  was  at  once  apparent. 

"Nu,  Sternsilver,"  he  said.  "Be  a  good  feller. 
Here  is  five  dollars.  Go  away  and  leave  us  alone." 

Sternsilver  laughed  aloud. 

"You  are  talking  like  I  would  be  a  child,  Seiden!" 
he  said.  "Either  you  would  give  me  cash  a  hundred 
dollars  oder  I  would  go  right  away  upstairs  to  the 


customers." 


Seiden  turned  to  Fatkin. 

"Fatkin,"  he  said,  "I  am  giving  you  this  evening 
three  hundred  dollars.  Give  him  a  hundred  dollars 
and  be  done  with  it." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  me  give  him  a  hundred  dollars, 
Mr.  Seiden?"  Fatkin  demanded.  "They  ain't  my 


customers." 


At  this  juncture  the  proprietor  of  the  hall  opened 
the  door. 

"Mr.  Seiden,"  he  said,  "everybody  is  through 
eating;  so,  if  you  would  give  me  the  key  to  the  suit 
case  which  you  got  the  cigars  and  Schnapps  in,  Mr. 
Seiden,  I  would  hand  'em  around." 

"I'll  be  there  in  a  minute,"  Seiden  replied.  He 
turned  to  Sternsilver  and  made  one  last  appeal.  "Nu9 
Sternsilver,"  he  said,  "would  you  take  a  check?" 


THE  SORROWS  OF  SEIDEN          97 

"Oser  a  Stuck"  Sternsilver  declared;  but,  although 
for  five  minutes  he  maintained  his  refusal,  he  finally 
relented. 

"Well,  Mr.  Seiden,"  he  said,  offering  his  hand, 
''I  congradulate  you." 

Seiden  refused  the  proffered  palm  and  started  for 
the  door.  Before  he  reached  it,  however,  Fatkin 
grabbed  him  by  the  arm. 

"At  such  a  time  like  this,  Mr.  Seiden,"  he  said, 
"you  couldn't  afford  to  be  small." 

Once  more  Sternsilver  held  out  his  hand  and  this 
time  Seiden  shook  it  limply. 

"No  bad  feelings,  Mr.  Seiden,"  Sternsilver  said, 
and  Seiden  shrugged  impatiently. 

"You,  I  don't  blame  at  all,  Sternsilver,"  he  said. 
"I  am  making  from  my  own  self  a  sucker  yet.  A 
feller  shouldn't  never  even  begin  with  his  wife's 
relations." 

At  the  end  of  a  year  Hillel  Fatkin  left  the  employ 
of  the  Sanspareil  Waist  Company  to  embark  in  the 
garment  business  on  his  own  account.  Many  reasons 
contributed  to  this  move,  chief  of  which  was  the 
arrival  of  a  son  in  Fatkin's  household. 

"And  we  would  call  him  Pes^ch,"  Hillel  said  to  his 
mother-in-law  shortly  after  the  birth  of  his  heir, 
"after  your  Uncle  Pesach  Gubin." 

"My  Uncle  Pesach  Gubin!"  Mrs.  Miriam  Sap- 
hir  protested.  "What  are  you  talking  nonsense, 


98         THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Hillel?  That  lowlife  is  Mrs.  Seiden's  uncle,  not 
my  uncle." 

"Your  cousin,  then,"  Hillel  continued.  "What's 
the  difference  if  he's  your  cousin  oder  your  uncle — we 
would  call  the  boy  after  him,  anyhow." 

"Call  the  boy  after  that  drinker — that  bum! 
What  for?  The  feller  ain't  no  relation  to  me  at  all. 
Why  should  we  call  the  precious  lamb  after  Beckie 
Seiden's  relations?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  told  me,"  he  said,  "that  Pesach 
Gubin  ain't  no  relation  to  Bessie  at  all?" 

Mrs  Saphir  nodded  and  blushed. 

"The  way  families  is  mixed  up  nowadays,  Hillel," 
she  said,  "it  don't  do  no  harm  to  claim  relation  with 
some  people." 

Her  face  commenced  to  resume  its  normal  colour. 

"Especially,"  she  added,  "if  they  got  money." 


CHAPTER  FOUR 
SERPENTS'  TEETH 

Av  right,  Max,"  cried  Samuel  Gembitz,  senior 
member  of  S.  Gembitz  &  Sons;  " if  you  think 
you  know  more  about  it  as  I  do,  Max,  go 
ahead  and  make  up  that  style  in  all  them  fancy  shades. 
But  listen  to  what  I'm  telling  you,  Max:  black,  navy 
blue,  brown,  and  smoke  is  plenty  enough;  and  all  them 
copenhoogens,  wisterias,  and  tchampanyers  we  would 
get  stuck  with,  just  as  sure  as  little  apples." 

"That's  what  you  think,  pop,"  Max  Gembitz  re 
plied. 

"Well,  I  got  a  right  to  think,  ain't  I?"  Samuel 
Gembitz  retorted. 

"  Sure,"  Max  said,  "  and  so  have  I." 

"After  me,"  Samuel  corrected.  "I  think  first  and 
then  you  think,  Max;  and  I  think  we  wouldn't  plunge 
so  heavy  on  them  lego's.  Make  up  a  few  of  'em  in 
blacks,  navies,  browns,  and  smokes,  Max,  and  after 
ward  we  would  see  about  making  up  the  others." 

He  rose  from  his  old-fashioned  Windsor  chair  in 
the  firm's  private  office  and  put  on  his  hat — a  silk 
hat  of  a  style  long  obsolete. 

99 


ioo       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"I  am  going  to  my  lunch,  Max,"  he  said  firmly, 
"and  when  I  come  back  I  will  be  here.  Another 
thing,  Max:  you  got  an  idee  them  1040*8  is  a  brand- 
new  style  which  is  so  original,  understand  me,  we 
are  bound  to  make  a  big  hit  with  it  at  seven-fifty 
apiece — ain't  it?" 

Max  nodded. 

"Well,  good  styles  travels  fast,  Max,"  the  old  man 
said;  "and  you  could  take  it  from  me,  Max,  in  two 
weeks'  time  Henry  Schrimm  and  all  them  other  fel 
lers  would  be  falling  over  themselves  to  sell  the  self 
same  garment  at  seven  dollars." 

He  seized  a  gold-mounted,  ebony  cane,  the  gift 
of  Harmony  Lodge,  ioo,  I.  O.  M.  A.,  and  started  for 
the  stairway,  but  as  he  reached  the  door  he  turned 
suddenly. 

"Max,"  he  shouted,  "tell  them  boys  to  straighten 
up  the  sample  racks.  The  place  looks  like  a  pigsty 
already." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  his  father  Max  aimed  a 
kick  at  the  old-fashioned  walnut  desk  and  the  old- 
fashioned  Windsor  chair;  and  then,  lighting  a  ciga 
rette,  he  walked  hurriedly  to  the  cutting  room. 

"Lester,"  he  said  to  his  younger  brother,  who  was 
poring  over  a  book  of  sample  swatches,  "what  do  you 
think  now?" 

"Huh?  "Lester  grunted. 

"The  old  man  says  we  shouldn't  make  up  them 
1040*8  in  nothing  but  black,  navy,  brown,  and  smoke ! " 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  101 

Lester  closed  the  book  of  sample  swatches  and  sat 
down  suddenly. 

"Wouldn't  that  make  you  sick?"  he  said  in  tones 
of  profound  disgust.  "I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Max,  if 
it  wouldn't  be  that  the  old  man  can't  run  the  business 
forever,  I'd  quit  right  now.  We've  got  a  killing  in 
sight  and  he  Jonahs  the  whole  thing." 

"I  told  you  what  it  would  be,"  Max  said.  "I  seen 
Falkstatter  in  Sarahcuse  last  week;  and  so  sure  as 
I'm  standing  here,  Lester,  I  could  sold  that  feller  a 
two-thousand-dollar  order  if  it  wouldn't  be  for  the 
old  man's  back-number  ideas.  Didn't  have  a  single 
pastel  shade  in  my  trunks!" 

"Where  is  he  now?"  Lester  asked. 

"Gone  to  lunch,"  Max  replied. 

Lester  took  up  the  sample  swatches  again  and  his 
eyes  rested  lovingly  on  a  delicate  shade  of  pink. 

"I  hope  he  chokes,"  he  said;  but  even  though  at 
that  very  moment  Samuel  Gembitz  sat  in  Hammer 
smith's  restaurant,  his  cheeks  distended  to  the  burst 
ing  point  with  gefullte  Rinderbrust,  Lester's  prayer 
went  unanswered.  Indeed,  Samuel  Gembitz  had  the 
bolting  capacity  of  a  boa-constrictor,  and,  with  the 
aid  of  a  gulp  of  coffee,  he  could  have  swallowed  a 
grapefruit  whole. 

"Ain't  you  scared  that  you  would  sometimes  hurt 
your  di-gestion,  Mr.  Gembitz?"  asked  Henry 
Schrimm,  who  sat  at  the  next  table. 

Now  this  was  a  sore  point  with  Sam  Gembitz,  for 


102        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

during  the  past  year  he  had  succumbed  to  more  than 
a  dozen  bilious  attacks  as  a  result  of  his  voracious 
appetite;  and  three  of  them  were  directly  traceable 
to  gefullte  Rinderbrust. 

"I  ain't  so  delicate  like  some  people,  Henry,"  he 
said  rather  sharply.  "I  don't  got  to  consider  every 
bit  of  meat  which  I  am  putting  in  my  mouth.  And 
even  if  I  would,  Henry,  what  is  doctors  for?  If  a 
feller  would  got  to  deny  himself  plain  food,  Henry, 
he  might  as  well  jump  off  a  dock  andfertig." 

Henry  Schrimm  was  an  active  member  of  as  many 
fraternal  orders  as  there  are  evenings  in  the  week,  and 
he  possessed  a  ready  sympathy  that  made  him  invalu 
able  as  a  chairman  of  a  sick-visiting  or  funeral  com 
mittee;  for  at  seven  p.  M.  Henry  could  bring  himself 
to  the  verge  of  tears  over  the  bedside  of  a  lodge 
brother,  without  unduly  affecting  his  ability  to  relish 
a  game  of  auction  pinochle  at  half-past  eight, 
sharp. 

"Jumping  off  a  dock  is  all  right,  too,  Mr.  Gembitz," 
he  commented,  "but  you  got  your  family  to  con 
sider." 

"You  shouldn't  worry  about  my  family,  Henry," 
Gembitz  retorted.  "I  am  carrying  good  insurance; 
and,  furthermore,  I  got  my  business  in  such  shape 
that  it  would  go  on  just  the  same  supposing  I  should 
die  to-morrow." 

"Gott  soil  huten,  Mr.  Gembitz,"  Henry  added 
piously  as  the  old  man  disposed  of  a  dishful  of  gravy 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  103 

through  the  capillary  attraction  of  a  hunk  of  spongy 
rye  bread. 

"Yes,  Henry,"  Gembitz  continued,  after  he  had 
licked  his  fingers  and  submitted  his  bicuspids  to  a 
process  of  vacuum  cleaning,  "I  got  my  business  down 
to  such  a  fine  point  which  you  could  really  say  was 
systematic." 

"That's  a  good  thing,  Mr.  Gembitz,"  Henry  said, 
"because,  presuming  for  the  sake  of  argument,  I  am 
only  saying  you  would  be  called  away,  Mr.  Gembitz, 
them  boys  of  yours  would  run  it  into  the  ground  in 


no  time." 


"What  d'ye  mean,  run  it  into  the  ground?"  Gem 
bitz  demanded  indignantly.  "If  you  would  got  the 
gumption  which  my  boys  got  it,  Schrimm,  you 
wouldn't  be  doing  a  business  which  the  most  you  are 
making  is  a  couple  thousand  a  year." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Henry  replied.  "If  I  would  got 
Lester's  gumption  I  would  be  sitting  around  the 
Harlem  Winter  Garden  till  all  hours  of  the  morning; 
and  if  I  would  got  Sidney's  gumption  I  would  be 
playing  Kelly  pool  from  two  to  four  every  afternoon. 
And  as  for  Max,  Mr.  Gembitz,  if  I  would  got  his 
gumption  I  would  make  a  present  of  it  to  my  worst 
enemy.  A  boy  which  he  is  going  on  forty  and  couldn't 
do  nothing  without  asking  his  popper's  permission 
first,  Mr.  Gembitz,  he  could  better  do  general  house 
work  for  a  living  as  sell  goods." 

Gembitz  rose  from  his  table  and  struggled  into  his 


io4       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

overcoat  speechless  with  indignation.  It  was  not 
until  he  had  buttoned  the  very  last  button  that  he 
was  able  to  enunciate. 

"Listen  here  to  me,  Schrimm!"  he  said.  "If 
Lester  goes  once  in  a  while  on  a  restaurant  in  the 
evening,  that's  his  business;  and,  anyhow,  so  far 
what  I  could  see,  Schrimm,  it  don't  interfere  none 
with  his  designing  garments  which  you  are  stealing 
on  us  just  as  soon  as  we  get  'em  on  the  market.  Fur 
thermore,  Schrimm,  if  Sidney  plays  Kelly  pool  every 
afternoon,  you  could  bet  your  life  he  also  sells  him 
a  big  bill  of  goods,  also.  You  got  to  entertain  a 
customer  oncet  in  a  while  if  you  want  to  sell  him 
goods,  Schrimm;  and,  anyhow,  Schrimm,  if  it  would 
be  you  would  be  trying  to  sell  goods  to  this  here 
Kelly,  you  wouldn't  got  sense  enough  to  play  pool 
with  him.  You  would  waste  your  time  trying  to 
learn  him  auction  pinochle." 

"But,  Mr.  Gembitz,"  Schrimm  began,  "when  a 
feller  plays  Kelly  pool 

"And  as  for  Max,"  Gembitz  interrupted,  "if  you 
would  be  so  good  a  boy  as  Max  is,  Schrimm,  might 
your  father  would  be  alive  to-day  yet." 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  Schrimm  cried.  "My  father 
died  when  I  was  two  years  old  already." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Gembitz  concluded;  "and  one 
thing  I  am  only  sorry,  Schrimm:  your  father  was  a 
decent,  respectable  man,  Schrimm,  but  he  ought  to 
got  to  die  three  years  sooner.  That's  all." 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  105 

No  sooner  had  Mr.  Gembitz  left  Hammersmith's 
restaurant  than  the  gefullte  Rinderbrust  commenced 
to  assert  itself;  and  by  the  time  he  arrived  at  his  place 
of  business  he  was  experiencing  all  the  preliminary 
symptoms  of  a  severe  bilious  attack.  Nevertheless, 
he  pulled  himself  together  and  as  he  sat  down  at  his 
desk  he  called  loudly  for  Sidney. 

"He  ain't  in,"  Max  said. 

"Oh,  he  ain't,  ain't  he?"  Mr.  Gembitz  retorted. 
"Well,  where  is  he?" 

"He  went  out  with  a  feller  from  the  New  Idea 
Store,  Bridgetown,"  Max  answered,  drawing  on  his 
imagination  in  the  defence  of  his  brother. 

"New  Idea  Store!"  Gembitz  repeated.  "What's 
the  feller's  name?" 

Max  shrugged. 

"I  forgot  his  name,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  I  ain't  forgot  his  name,"  Gembitz  continued. 
"His  name  is  Kelly;  and  every  afternoon  Schrimm 
tells  me  Sidney  is  playing  this  here  Kelly  pool." 

For  a  brief  interval  Max  stared  at  his  father;  then 
he  broke  into  an  unrestrained  laugh. 

"Nut"  Gembitz  cried.     "What's  the  joke?" 

"Why,"  Max  explained, "  you're  all  twisted.  Kelly 
ain't  a  feller  at  all.  Kelly  pool's  a  game,  like  you 
would  say  straight  pinochle  and  auction  pinochle 
— there's  straight  pool  and  Kelly  pool." 

Gembitz  drummed  on  his  desk  with  his  fingers. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  told  me  there  ain't  no  such  per- 


106        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

son,  which  he  is  buying  goods  for  a  concern,  called 
Kelly?  "he  demanded. 

Max  nodded. 

"Then  that  loafer  just  fools  away  his  time  every 
afternoon,"  Gembitz  said  in  choking  tones;  "and, 
after  all  I  done  for  him,  he 

"What's  the  matter,  popper?"  Max  cried,  for 
Gembitz's  lips  had  suddenly  grown  purple,  and,  even 
as  Max  reached  forward  to  aid  him,  he  lurched  from 
his  chair  on  to  the  floor. 

Half  an  hour  later  Samuel  Gembitz  was  undergoing 
the  entirely  novel  experience  of  riding  uptown  in  a 
taxicab,  accompanied  by  a  young  physician  who  had 
been  procured  from  the  medical  department  of  an  in 
surance  company  across  the  street. 

"Say,  lookyhere,"  Sam  protested  as  they  assisted 
him  into  the  cab,  "this  ain't  necessary  at  all!" 

"No,  I  know  it  isn't,"  the  doctor  agreed,  in  his 
best  imitation  of  an  old  practitioner's  jocular  man 
ner.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  very  young  practitioner  and 
was  genuinely  alarmed  at  Samuel's  condition,  which 
he  attributed  to  arteriosclerosis  and  not  to  gefullte 
Rinderbrust.  "But,  just  the  same,"  he  concluded, 
"it  is  just  as  well  to  keep  as  quiet  as  possible  for  the 
present." 

Sam  nodded  and  lay  back  wearily  in  the  leather 
seat  of  the  taxicab  while  it  threaded  its  way  through 
the  traffic  of  lower  Fifth  Avenue.  Only  once  did 
he  appear  to  take  an  interest  in  his  surroundings, 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  107 

and  that  was  when  the  taxicab  halted  at  the  end 
of  a  long  line  of  traffic  opposite  the  debris  of  a  new 
building. 

"What's  going  on  here?"  he  asked  faintly. 

"It's  pretty  nearly  finished,"  the  doctor  replied. 
"Weldon,  Jones  &  Company,  of  Minneapolis,  are 
going  to  open  a  New  York  store." 

Sam  nodded  again  and  once  more  closed  his  eyes. 
He  grew  more  uncomfortable  as  the  end  of  the  jour 
ney  approached,  for  he  dreaded  the  reception  that 
awaited  him.  Max  had  telephoned  the  news  of  his 
father's  illness  to  his  sister,  Miss  Babette  Gembitz, 
Sam's  only  daughter,  who  upon  her  mother's  death 
had  assumed  not  only  the  duties  but  the  manner  and 
bearing  of  that  tyrannical  person;  and  Sam  knew  she 
would  make  a  searching  investigation  of  the  cause 
of  his  ailment. 

"Doctor,  what  do  you  think  is  the  matter  with 
me  ? "  he  asked,  by  way  of  a  feeler. 

"At  your  age,  it's  impossible  to  say,"  the  doctor 
replied;  "but  nothing  very  serious." 

"No?"  Sam  said.  "Well,  you  don't  think  it's 
indigestion,  do  you?" 

"Decidedly  not,"  the  doctor  said. 

"Well,  then,  you  shouldn't  forget  and  tell  my 
daughter  that,"  Sam  declared  as  the  cab  stopped 
opposite  his  house,  "otherwise  she  will  swear  I  am 
eating  something  which  disagrees  with  me." 

He  clambered  feebly  to  the  sidewalk,  where  stood 


io8        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Miss  Babette  Gembitz  with  Dr.  Sigmund  Eichen- 
dorfer. 

"Wie  gehtsy  Mr.  Gembitz?"  Doctor  Eichendorfer 
cried  cheerfully  as  he  took  Sam's  arm. 

" Unpdsslich,  Doctor,"  Sam  replied.  "I  guess  I'm 
a  pretty  sick  man." 

He  glanced  at  his  daughter  for  some  trace  of  tears, 
but  she  met  his  gaze  unmoved. 

"  You've  been  making  a  hog  of  yourself  again, 
popper!"  she  said  severely. 

"Oser!"  Sam  protested.  "Crackers  and  milk  I 
am  eating  for  my  lunch.  The  doctor  could  tell  you 
the  same." 

Ten  minutes  afterward  Sam  was  tucked  up  in 
his  bed,  while  in  an  adjoining  room  the  young 
physician  communicated  his  diagnosis  to  Doctor 
Eichendorfer. 

"Arteriosclerosis,  I  should  say,"  he  murmured, 
and  Doctor  Eichendorfer  sniffed  audibly. 

"You  mean  Bright's  Disease — ain't  it?"  he  said. 
"That  feller's  arteries  is  as  sound  as  plumbing." 

Doctor  Eichendorfer  had  received  his  medical 
training  in  Vienna  and  he  considered  it  to  be  a 
solemn  duty  never  to  agree  with  the  diagnosis  of  a 
native  M.D. 

"I  thought  of  Bright's  Disease,"  the  young  phy 
sician  replied,  speaking  a  little  less  than  the  naked 
truth;  for  in  diagnosing  Sam's  ailment  he  had  thought 
of  nearly  every  disease  he  could  remember* 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  109 

"Well,  you  could  take  it  from  me,  Doctor,"  Eichen- 
dorfer  concluded,  "when  one  of  these  old-timers  goes 
under  there's  a  history  of  a  rich,  unbalanced  diet 
behind  it;  and  B  right's  Disease  it  is.  Also,  you 
shouldn't  forget  to  send  in  your  bill — not  a  cent  less 
than  ten  dollars." 

He  shook  his  confrere  warmly  by  the  hand;  and 
three  hours  later  the  melancholy  circumstance  of 
Sam's  Bright's  Disease  was  known  to  every  member 
of  the  cloak  and  suit  trade,  with  one  exception — 
to  wit,  as  the  lawyers  say,  Sam  himself.  He  knew 
that  he  had  had  gefullte  Rinderbrust,  but  by  seven 
o'clock  this  knowledge  became  only  a  torment  as  the 
savoury  odour  of  the  family  dinner  ascended  to  his 
bedroom. 

"Babette,"  he  called  faintly,  as  becomes  a  con 
valescent,  "ain't  I  going  to  have  no  dinner  at  all 
to-night?" 

For  answer  Babette  brought  in  a  covered  tray,  on 
which  were  arranged  two  pieces  of  dry  toast  and  a 
glass  of  buttermilk. 

"What's  this?  "Sam  cried. 

"That's  your  dinner,"  Babette  replied,  "and  you 
should  thank  Gawd  you  are  able  to  eat  it." 

"You  don't  got  to  told  me  who  I  should  thank  for 
such  slops  which  you  are  bringing  me,"  he  said,  with 
every  trace  of  convalescence  gone  from  his  tones. 
"Take  that  damn  thing  away  and  give  me  something 
to  eat.  Ain't  that  geddmpftes  Kalbfleisch  I  smell  ? " 


no       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Babette  made  no  reply,  but  gazed  sadly  at  her 
father  as  she  placed  the  tray  on  a  chair  beside  his 
bed. 

"You  don't  know  yourself  how  sick  you  are,"  she 
said.  "Doctor  Eichendorfer  says  you  should  be 
very  quiet." 

This  admonition  produced  no  effect  on  Sam,  who 
immediately  started  on  an  abusive  criticism  of  phy 
sicians  in  general  and  Dr.  Sigmund  Eichendorfer  in 
particular. 

"What  does  that  dummer  Esel  know?"  he  de 
manded.  "  I  bet  yer  that  the  least  he  tells  you  is  I 
got  Bright's  Disease!" 

Babette  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"So  you  know  it  yourself  all  the  time,"  she  com 
mented  bitterly;  "and  yet  you  want  to  eat  geddmpftes 
Kalbfleisch,  when  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  it  would 
pretty  near  kill  you." 

" Kill  me!"  Sam  shouted.  "What  d'ye  mean,  kill 
me?  I  eat  some  Rinderbrust  for  my  lunch  yet;  and 
that's  all  what  ails  me.  I  ain't  got  no  more  Bright's 
Disease  as  you  got  it." 

"If  you  think  that  lying  is  going  to  help  you,  you're 
mistaken,"  Babette  replied  calmly.  "To  a  man  in 
your  condition  geddmpftes  Kalbfleisch  is  poison." 

"I  ain't  lying  to  you,"  Sam  insisted.  "I  am  eat 
ing  too  much  lunch,  I  am  telling  you." 

"And  you're  not  going  to  eat  too  much  dinner!" 
Babette  said  as  she  tiptoed  from  the  room. 


SERPENTS5  TEETH  in 

Thus  Sam  drank  a  glass  of  buttermilk  and  ate 
some  dry  toast  for  his  supper;  and,  in  consequence, 
he  slept  so  soundly  that  he  did  not  waken  until  Dr. 
Sigmund  Eichendorfer  entered  his  room  at  eight 
o'clock  the  following  morning.  Under  the  bullying 
frown  of  his  daughter  Sam  submitted  to  a  physical 
examination  that  lasted  for  more  than  an  hour;  and 
when  Doctor  Eichendorfer  departed  he  left  behind 
him  four  varieties  of  tablets  and  a  general  inter 
diction  against  eating  solid  food,  getting  up,  going 
downtown,  or  any  of  the  other  dozen  things  that 
Sam  insisted  upon  doing. 

It  was  only  under  the  combined  persuasion  of  Max, 
Babette,  and  Lester  that  he  consented  to  stay  in  bed 
that  forenoon;  and  when  lunchtime  arrived  he  was  so 
weakened  by  a  twenty-four-hour  fast  and  Doctor 
Eichendorfer's  tablets,  that  he  was  glad  to  remain 
undisturbed  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

At  length,  after  one  bedridden  week,  accompanied 
by  a  liquid  diet  and  more  tablets,  Sam  was  allowed 
to  sit  up  in  a  chair  and  to  partake  of  a  slice  of  chicken. 

"Well,  popper,  how  do  you  feel  to-day?"  asked 
Max,  who  had  just  arrived  from  the  office. 

"I  feel  pretty  sick,  Max,"  Sam  replied;  "but  I 
guess  I  could  get  downtown  to-morrow,  all  right." 

Babette  sat  nearby  and  nodded  her  head  slowly. 

"Guess  some  more,  popper,"  she  said.  "Before 
you  would  go  downtown  yet,  you  are  going  to  Lake- 
wood." 


ii2       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"  Lakewood ! "  Sam  exclaimed.  "  What  d'ye  mean, 
Lakewood?  If  you  want  to  go  to  Lakewood,  go 
ahead.  I  am  going  downtown  to-morrow.  What, 
d'ye  think  a  business  could  run  itself?" 

"So  far  as  business  is  concerned,"  Max  said,  "you 
shouldn't  trouble  yourself  at  all.  We  are  hustling 
like  crazy  downtown  and  we  already  sold  over  three 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  them  1040*8." 

Sam  sat  up  suddenly. 

"I  see  my  finish,"  he  said,  "with  you  boys  selling 
goods  left  and  right  to  a  lot  of  fakers  like  the  New 
Idea  Store." 

"New  Idea  Store  nothing!"  Max  retorted.  "We 
are  selling  over  two  thousand  dollars  to  Falkstatter, 
Fein  &  Company — and  I  guess  they're  fakers — 
what!" 

Sam  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Falkstatter,  Fein  &  Company  is  all  right,"  he 
admitted. 

"And,  furthermore,"  Max  continued,  "we  sold 
'em  fancy  colours  like  wistaria,  Copenhagen,  and 
champagne;  and  them  navy  blues  and  browns  they 
wouldn't  touch." 

"No?  "Sam  said  weakly. 

"So  you  see,  popper,  if  you  would  been  downtown 
we  wouldn't  got  that  order  at  all,"  Max  continued. 
"So  what's  the  use  worrying  yourself?" 

"He's  right,  popper,"  Babette  added.  "You're 
getting  too  old  to  be  going  downtown  every  day. 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  113 

The  boys  could  look  after  the  business.  It's  time 
you  took  a  rest." 

At  this  juncture  Doctor  Eichendorfer  entered. 

"Hello!"  he  said.  "What  are  you  doing  sitting 
up  here?  You  must  get  right  back  to  bed." 

"  What  are  you  talking  nonsense  ? "  Sam  cried.  "  I 
am  feeling  pretty  good  already." 

"You  look  it,"  Eichendorfer  said.  "If  you  could 
see  the  way  you  are  run  down  this  last  week  yet  you 
wouldn't  talk  so  fresh." 

He  seized  Sam  by  the  arm  as  he  spoke  and  lifted 
him  out  of  the  chair. 

"You  ain't  so  heavy  like  you  used  to  be,  Mr.  Gem- 
bitz,"  he  went  on  as  he  helped  Sam  to  his  bed.  "An 
other  week  and  you  could  sit  up,  but  not  before." 

Sam  groaned  as  they  tucked  the  covers  around  him. 

"Now  you  see  how  weak  you  are,"  Eichendorfer 
cried  triumphantly.  "Don't  get  up  again  unless  I 
would  tell  you  first." 

After  leaving  some  more  tablets,  Doctor  Eichen 
dorfer  took  his  leave;  and  half  an  hour  later  Sam  knew 
by  the  tantalizing  odours  that  pervaded  his  bedroom 
that  the  family  dined  on  stewed  chicken  with  Kar- 
toffel  Klbsse.  For  the  remainder  of  the  evening  Sam 
lay  with  his  eyes  closed;  and  whenever  Babette  ap 
proached  his  bedside  with  a  tumbler  of  water  and 
the  box  of  tablets  he  snored  ostentatiously.  Thus  he 
managed  to  evade  the  appetite-dispelling  medicine 
until  nearly  midnight,  when  Babette  coughed  loudly. 


ii4       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Popper,"  she  said,  "I'm  going  to  bed  and  I  want 
you  to  take  your  tablets." 

"Leave  'em  on  the  chair  here,"  he  replied,  "and 
I'll  take  'em  in  a  few  minutes." 

He  watched  her  place  the  tablets  on  the  chair; 
and  as  soon  as  her  back  was  turned  he  seized  them 
eagerly  and  thrust  them  into  the  pocket  of  his  night 
shirt. 

"Where's  the  water?"  he  mumbled;  and  when 
Babette  handed  him  the  tumbler  he  gulped  down 
the  water  with  noise  sufficient  to  account  for  a  boxful 
of  tablets. 

"Now,  leave  me  alone,"  he  said;  and  Babette 
kissed  him  coldly  on  the  left  ear. 

"I  hope  you'll  feel  better  in  the  morning,"  she  said 
dutifully. 

"  Don't  worry,"  Sam  said.     "  I'm  going  to." 

He  listened  carefully  until  he  heard  the  door  close 
and  then  he  threw  back  the  coverlet.  Very  gingerly 
he  slid  to  the  carpet  and  planted  himself  squarely  on 
his  feet.  A  sharp  attack  of  "pins  and  needles"  pre 
vented  any  further  movement  for  some  minutes;  but 
at  length  it  subsided  and  he  began  to  search  for  his 
slippers.  His  bathrobe  hung  on  the  back  of  the 
door,  and,  after  he  had  struggled  into  it,  he  opened 
the  door  stealthily  and,  clinging  to  the  balustrade, 
crept  downstairs  to  the  basement. 

He  negotiated  the  opening  of  the  ice-box  door  with 
the  skill  of  an  experienced  burglar;  and  immediately 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  115 

thereafter  he  sat  down  at  the  kitchen  table  in  front 
of  a  dishful  of  stewed  chicken,  four  cold  boiled  pota 
toes,  the  heel  of  a  rye  loaf,  and  a  bottle  of  beer. 
Twenty  minutes  later  he  laid  away  the  empty  dish 
on  top  of  the  kitchen  sink,  with  the  empty  beer  bottle 
beneath  it;  then,  after  supplying  himself  with  a  box 
of  matches,  he  crept  upstairs  to  his  room. 

When  Babette  opened  the  door  the  following  morn 
ing  she  raised  her  chin  and  sniffed  suspiciously. 

"Ain't  it  funny?"  she  murmured,  "I  could  al 
most  swear  I  smell  stale  cigar  smoke  here." 

Sam  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

"You're  crazy!"  he  said. 

During  the  ensuing  week  Sam  Gembitz  became  an 
adept  in  the  art  of  legerdemain;  and  the  skill  with 
which  he  palmed  tablets  under  the  very  nose  of  his 
daughter  was  only  equalled  by  the  ingenuity  he  dis 
played  in  finally  disposing  of  them.  At  least  three 
dozen  disappeared  through  a  crack  in  the  wainscoting 
behind  Sam's  bed,  while  as  many  more  were  poked 
through  a  hole  in  the  mattress;  and  thus  Sam  became 
gradually  stronger,  until  Doctor  Eichendorfer  him 
self  could  not  ignore  the  improvement  in  his  patient's 
condition. 

"All  right;  you  can  sit  up,"  he  said  to  Sam;  "but, 
remember,  the  least  indiscretion  and  back  to  bed  you 

go-" 

Sam  nodded,  for  Babette  was  in  the  room  at  the 
time;  and, albeit  Sam  had  gained  new  courage  through 


n6       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

his  nightly  raids  on  the  ice-box,  he  lacked  the  bold 
ness  that  three  square  meals  a  day  engender. 

"I  would  take  good  care  of  myself,  Doctor,"  he 
said,  "and  the  day  after  to-morrow  might  I  could  go 
downtown,  maybe?" 

"The  day  after  to-morrow!"  Doctor  Eichendorfer 
exclaimed.  "Why,  you  wouldn't  be  downtown  for 
a  month  yet." 

"The  idea!"  Babette  cried  indignantly.  "As  if 
the  boys  couldn't  look  after  the  place  without  you! 
What  d'ye  want  to  go  downtown  for  at  all  ? " 

"What  d'ye  mean,  what  do  I  want  to  go  downtown 
for  at  all?"  Sam  demanded  sharply,  and  Miss  Ba 
bette  Gembitz  blushed;  whereupon  Sam  rose  from  his 
chair  and  stood  unsteadily  on  his  feet. 

"  You  are  up  to  some  monkey  business  here — all  of 
you!"  he  declared.  "What  is  it  about?" 

Babette  exchanged  glances  with  Doctor  Eichen 
dorfer,  who  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  reply. 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  know  what  it  is,  popper," 
she  said,  "I'll  tell  you.  You're  a  very  sick  man  and 
the  chances  are  you'll  never  go  downtown  again." 
Doctor  Eichendorfer  nodded  his  approval  and  Sam 
sat  down  again. 

"So  we  may  as  well  tell  you  right  out  plain,"  Ba 
bette  continued;  "the  boys  have  given  out  to  the 
trade  that  you've  retired  on  account  of  sickness — 
and  here  it  is  in  the  paper  and  all." 

She  handed  Sam  a  copy  of  the  Daily  Cloak  and 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  117 

Suit  Record  and  indicated  with  her  finger  an  item 
headed  "Personals/*     It  read  as  follows: 

NEW  YORK. — Samuel  Gembitz,  of  S.  Gembitz  &  Sons, 
whose  serious  illness  was  reported  recently,  has  retired 
from  the  firm,  and  the  business  will  be  carried  on  by  Max 
Gembitz,  Lester  Gembitz,  and  Sidney  Gembitz,  under  the 
firm  style  of  Gembitz  Brothers. 

As  Sam  gazed  at  the  item  the  effect  of  one  week's 
surreptitious  feeding  was  set  at  naught,  and  once 
more  Babette  and  Doctor  Eichendorfer  assisted  him 
to  his  bed.  That  night  he  had  neither  the  strength 
nor  the  inclination  to  make  his  accustomed  raid  on 
the  ice-box,  nor  could  he  resist  the  administration  of 
Doctor  Eichendorfer's  tablets;  so  that  the  following 
day  found  him  weaker  than  ever.  It  was  not  until 
another  week  had  elapsed  that  his  appetite  began  to 
assert  itself;  but  when  it  did  he  convalesced  rapidly. 
Indeed,  at  the  end  of  the  month,  Doctor  Eichen 
dorfer  permitted  him  to  take  short  walks  with  Ba 
bette.  Gradually  the  length  of  these  promenades 
increased  until  Babette  found  her  entire  forenoons 
monopolized  by  her  father. 

"Ain't  it  awful!"  she  said  to  Sam  one  Sunday 
morning  as  they  paced  slowly  along  Lenox  Avenue. 
"I  am  so  tied  down." 

"You  ain't  tied  down,"  Sam  replied  ungraciously. 
"For  my  part,  I  would  as  lief  hang  around  this  here 
place  by  myself." 


n8        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk,"  Babette  re 
joined;  "but  you  know  very  well  that  in  your  condi 
tion  you  could  drop  in  the  street  at  any  time  yet." 

" Schmooes  /"  Sam  cried.  "I  am  walking  by  my 
self  for  sixty-five  years  yet  and  I  guess  I  could  con 
tinue  to  do  it." 

"But    Doctor    Eichendorfer    says "    Babette 

began. 

"What  do  I  care  what  Doctor  Eichendorfer  says!" 
Sam  interrupted.  "And,  furthermore,  supposing  I 
would  drop  in  the  street — which  anybody  could  slip 
oncet  in  a  while  on  a  banana  peel,  understand  me — 
ain't  I  got  cards  in  my  pocket?" 

Babette  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  whereat 
Sam  plucked  up  new  courage. 

"Why  should  you  bother  yourself  to  schlepp  me 
along  like  this?"  he  said.  "There's  lots  of  people 
I  could  go  out  with.  Ain't  it  ?  Take  old  man  Herz 
oder  Mrs.  Krakauer — they  would  be  glad  to  go  out 
walking  with  me;  and  oncet  in  a  while  I  could  go  and 
call  on  Mrs.  Schrimm  maybe." 

"Mrs.  Schrimm!"  Babette  exclaimed.  "I'm  sur 
prised  to  hear  you  talk  that  way.  Mrs.  Schrimm  for 
years  goes  around  telling  everybody  that  mommer 
selig  leads  you  a  dawg's  life." 

"Everybody's  got  a  right  to  their  opinion,  Ba 
bette,"  Sam  said;  "but,  anyhow,  that  ain't  here  nor 
there.  If  you  wouldn't  want  me  to  go  around  and 
see  Mrs.  Schrimm  I  wouldn't." 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  119 

Babette  snorted. 

"In  the  first  place,"  she  said,  "you  couldn't  go 
unless  I  go  with  you;  and,  in  the  second  place,  you 
couldn't  get  me  to  go  there  for  a  hundred  dollars." 

Beyond  suggesting  that  a  hundred  dollars  was  a 
lot  of  money,  Sam  made  no  further  attempt  to  secure 
his  liberty  that  morning;  but  on  the  following  day  he 
discreetly  called  his  daughter's  attention  to  a  full- 
page  advertisement  in  the  morning  paper. 

"Ain't  you  was  telling  me  the  other  evening  you 
need  to  got  some  table  napkins,  Babette?"  he  asked. 

Babette  nodded. 

"Well,  here  it  is  in  the  paper  that  new  concern, 
Weldon,  Jones  &  Company,  is  selling  to-day  napkins 
at  three  dollars  a  dozen — the  best  damask  napkins," 
he  concluded. 

Babette  seized  the  paper  and  five  minutes  later 
she  was  poking  hatpins  into  her  scalp  with  an  energy 
that  made  Sam's  eyes  water. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Babette ? "  he  said. 

"I'm  going  downtown  to  that  sale  of  linens,"  she 
said,  "and  I'll  be  back  to  take  you  out  at  one  o'clock." 

"Don't  hurry  on  my  account,"  Sam  said.  "I've 
got  enough  here  in  the  paper  to  keep  me  busy  until 
to-night  yet." 

Five  minutes  later  the  basement  door  banged  and 
Sam  jumped  to  his  feet.  With  the  agility  of  a  man 
half  his  age  he  ran  upstairs  to  the  parlour  floor  and 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat;  and  by  the  time  Babette 


i2o       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

had  turned  the  corner  of  Lenox  Avenue  Sam  walked 
out  of  the  areaway  of  his  old-fashioned,  three-story- 
and-basement,  high-stoop  residence  on  One  Hundred 
and  Eighteenth  Street  en  route  for  Mrs.  Schrimm's 
equally  old-fashioned  residence  on  One  Hundred  and 
Twenty-seventh  Street.  There  he  descended  the  area 
steps;  and  finding  the  door  ajar  he  walked  into  the 
basement  dining-room. 

"Wie  gehts,  Mrs.  Schrimm!"  he  cried  cheerfully. 

"Oo-ee!  What  a  Schreck  you  are  giving  me!'' 
Mrs.  Schrimm  exclaimed.  "This  is  Sam  Gembitz, 
ain't  it?" 

"  Sure  it  is,"  Sam  replied.  "Ain't  you  afraid  some 
body  is  going  to  come  in  and  steal  something  on 
you?" 

"That's  that  girl  again!"  Mrs.  Schrimm  said  as 
she  bustled  out  to  the  areaway  and  slammed  the 
door.  "That's  one  of  them  Ungarischer  girls,  Mr. 
Gembitz,  which  all  they  could  do  is  to  eat  up  your 
whole  ice-box  empty  and  go  out  dancing  on  Bauern 
balls  till  all  hours  of  the  morning.  Housework  is 
something  they  don't  know  nothing  about  at  all. 
Well,  Mr.  Gembitz,  I  am  hearing  such  tales  about 
you — you  are  dying,  and  so  on." 

"Warum  Mister  Gembitz?"  Sam  said.  "Ain't 
you  always  called  me  Sam,  Henrietta?" 

Mrs.  Schrimm  blushed.  In  the  lifetime  of  the 
late  Mrs.  Gembitz  she  had  been  a  constant  visitor 
at  the  Gembitz  house,  but  under  Babette's  chilling 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  121 

influence  the  friendship  had  withered  until  it  was 
only  a  memory. 

"  Why  not  ? "  she  said.  "I  certainly  know  you  long 
enough,  Sam." 

"Going  on  thirty-five  years,  Henrietta,"  Sam  said, 
"when  you  and  me  and  Regina  come  over  here  to 
gether.  Things  is  very  different  nowadays,  Hen 
rietta.  Me,  I  am  an  old  man  already." 

"What  do  you  mean  old  ?"  Mrs.  Schrimm  cried. 
"When  my  Grossvater  selig  was  sixty-eight  he  gets 
married  for  the  third  time  yet." 

"Them  old-timers  was  a  different  proposition 
entirely,  Henrietta,"  Sam  said.  "If  I  would  be 
talking  about  getting  married,  Henrietta,  the  least 
that  happens  to  me  is  my  children  would  put  me  in  a 
lunatic  asylum  yet." 

"Yow!"  Mrs.  Schrimm  murmured  skeptically. 

"Wouldn't  they?"  Sam  continued.  "Well,  you 
could  just  bet  your  life  they  would.  Why,  I  am  sick 
only  a  couple  weeks  or  so,  Henrietta,  and  what  do 
them  boys  do?  They  practically  throw  me  out  of 
my  business  yet  and  tell  me  I  am  retired." 

"And  you  let  'em?"  Mrs.  Schrimm  asked. 

"What  could  I  do?"  Sam  said.  "I'm  a  sick  man, 
Henrietta.  Doctor  Eichendorfer  says  I  wouldn't  live 
a  year  yet." 

"Doctor  Eichendorfer  says  that!"  Mrs.  Schrimm 
rejoined.  "And  do  you  told  me  that  you  are  taking 
Doctor  Eichendorfer's  word  for  it  ? " 


122       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Doctor  Eichendorfer  is  a  Rosher,  I  admit,"  Sam 
answered; "  but  he's  a  pretty  good  doctor,  Henrietta." 

"For  the  gesund,  yes,"  Mrs.  Schrimm  admitted. 
"But  if  my  cat  would  be  sick,  Sam,  and  Doctor 
Eichendorfer  charges  two  cents  a  call  yet,  I  wouldn't 
have  him  in  my  house  at  all.  I  got  too  much  respect 
for  my  cat,  Sam.  With  that  feller,  as  soon  as  he 
comes  into  the  bedroom  he  says  the  patient  is  dying; 
because  if  the  poor  feller  does  die,  understand  me, 
then  Eichendorfer  is  a  good  prophet,  and  if  he  gets 
better  then  Eichendorfer  is  a  good  doctor.  He  al 
ways  fixes  it  so  he  gets  the  credit  both  ways.  But 
you  got  to  acknowledge  one  thing  about  that  feller, 
Sam — he  knows  how  to  charge,  Sam;  and  he's  a  good 
collector.  Everybody  says  so." 

Sam  nodded  sadly. 

"I  give  you  right  about  that,"  he  said. 

"And,  furthermore,"  Mrs.  Schrimm  began, 
"he " 

Mrs.  Schrimm  proceeded  no  further,  however, 
for  the  sound  of  a  saucepan  boiling  over  brought 
her  suddenly  to  her  feet  and  she  dashed  into  the 
kitchen. 

Two  minutes  later  a  delicate,  familiar  odour  as 
sailed  Sam's  nostrils,  and  when  Mrs.  Schrimm  re 
turned  she  found  him  unconsciously  licking  his  lips. 

"Yes,  Sam,"  she  declared,  "them  Ungarischer 
girls  is  worser  as  nobody  in  the  kitchen.  Pretty  near 
ruins  my  whole  lunch,  and  I  got  Mrs.  Krakauer  com- 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  123 

ing,  too.  You  know  what  a  talker  that  woman  is; 
and  if  I  would  give  her  something  which  it  is  a  little 
burned,  y'understand,  the  whole  of  New  York  hears 
about  it." 

"Well,  Henrietta,"  Sam  said  as  he  rose  and  seized 
his  hat,  "I  must  be  going." 

"Going!"  Mrs.  Schrimm  cried.  "Why,  you're 
only  just  coming.  And  besides,  Sam,  you  are  going 
to  stop  to  lunch,  too." 

"Lunch!"  Sam  exclaimed.  "Why,  I  don't  eat 
lunch  no  more,  Henrietta.  All  the  doctor  allows  me 
is  crackers  and  milk." 

"Do  you  mean  Doctor  Eichendorfer  allows  you 
that?"  Mrs.  Schrimm  asked,  and  Sam  nodded. 

"Then  all  I  could  say  is,"  she  continued,  "that 
you  are  going  to  stay  to  lunch,  because  if  Doctor 
Eichendorfer  allows  a  man  only  crackers  and  milk, 
Sam,  that's  a  sign  he  could  eat  Wienerwurst,  dill 
pickles,  and  Handkdse.  Aber  if  Doctor  Eichendorfer 
says  you  could  eat  steaks  and  chops,  stick  to  boiled 
eggs  and  milk — because  steaks  would  kill  you 


sure." 


'But  Babette  would  be  back  at  one  o'clock  and  if 
I  didn't  get  home  before  then  she  would  take  my  head 
off  for  me." 

Mrs.  Schrimm  nodded  sympathetically. 

"So  you  wouldn't  stay  for  lunch?"  she  said. 

"I  couldn't,"  Sam  protested. 

"Very  well,  then,"  Mrs.  Schrimm  cried  as  she 


124        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

hurried  to  the  kitchen.  "Sit  right  down  again,  Sam; 
I  would  be  right  back." 

When  Mrs.  Schrimm  appeared  a  few  minutes  later 
she  bore  a  cloth-covered  tray  which  she  placed  on  the 
table  in  front  of  Sam. 

"You  got  until  half-past  twelve — ain't  it?"  she 
said;  "so  take  your  time,  Sam.  You  should  chew 
your  food  good,  especially  something  which  it  is  al 
ready  half  chopped,  like  gefullte  Rinderbrust." 

"Gefullte  Rinderbrust!19  Sam  cried.  "Why"— he 
poked  at  it  with  his  knife — "Why,  this  always  makes 
me  sick."  He  balanced  a  good  mouthful  on  his  fork. 

"But,  anyhow "  he  concluded,  and  the  rest  of  the 

sentence  was  an  incoherent  mumbling  as  he  fell  to 
ravenously.  Moreover,  he  finished  the  succulent 
dish,  gravy  and  all,  and  washed  down  the  whole  with 
a  cup  of  coffee — not  Hammersmith's  coffee  or  the 
dark  brown  fluid,  with  a  flavour  of  stale  tobacco  pipe, 
that  Miss  Babette  Gembitz  had  come  to  persuade 
herself  was  coffee,  but  a  fragrant  decoction,  softened 
by  rich,  sweet  cream  and  containing  all  the  delicious 
fragrance  of  the  best  thirty-five-cent  coffee,  fresh- 
ground  from  the  grocer's. 

"  Ja,  Henrietta,"  Sam  cried  as  he  rose  to  leave; 
"I  am  going  to  weddings  and  fashionable  hotels,  and 
I  am  eating  with  high-grade  customers  in  restaurants 
which  you  would  naturally  take  a  high-grade  cus 
tomer  to,  understand  me;  but — would  you  believe 
me,  Henrietta! — I  am  yet  got  to  taste  such  coffee 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  125 

oder  such  gefullte  Rinderbrust  as  you  are  giving  me 


now." 


Mrs.  Schrimm  beamed  her  acknowledgment  of 
the  compliment. 

"To-morrow  you  would  get  some  chicken  fricassee, 
Sam,"  she  said,  "if  you  would  get  here  at  half-past 
eleven  sharp." 

Sam  shook  her  hand  fervently. 

"Believe  me,  I  would  try  my  best,"  he  said;  and 
fifteen  minutes  later,  when  Babette  entered  the 
Gembitz  residence  on  One  Hundred  and  Eighteenth 
Street,  she  found  Sam  as  she  had  left  him — fairly 
buried  in  the  financial  page  of  the  morning  paper. 

"Well,  Babette,"  Sam  cried,  "so  you  see  I  went 
out  and  I  took  my  walk  and  I  come,  back  and  nothing 
happened  to  me.  Ain't  it?" 

Babette  nodded. 

"I'll  get  you  your  lunch  right  away,"  she  said;  and 
without  removing  her  hat  and  jacket,  she  brought 
him  a  glass  of  buttermilk  and  six  plain  crackers.  Sam 
watched  her  until  she  had  ascended  the  stairs  to  the 
first  floor;  then  he  stole  on  tiptoe  to  the  sink  in  the 
butler's  pantry  and  emptied  the  buttermilk  down  the 
wastepipe.  A  moment  later  he  opened  the  door  of  a 
bookcase  that  stood  near  the  mantelpiece  and  de 
posited  five  of  the  crackers  behind  six  full-morocco 
volumes  entitled  "Prayers  for  Festivals  and  Holy 
Days."  He  was  busily  engaged  in  eating  the  remain 
ing  cracker  when  Babette  returned;  and  all  that  after- 


126       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

noon  he  seemed  so  contented  and  even  jovial  that 
Babette  determined  to  permit  him  his  solitary  walk 
on  the  following  day. 

Thus  Sam  not  only  ate  the  chicken  fricassee  but 
three  days  afterward,  when  he  visited  Mrs.  Schrimm 
upon  the  representation  to  Babette  that  he  would  sit 
all  the  morning  in  Mt.  Morris  Park,  he  suggested  to 
Henrietta  that  he  show  some  return  for  her  hospi 
tality  by  taking  her  to  luncheon  at  a  fashionable 
hotel  downtown. 

"My  restaurant  days  is  over,"  Mrs.  Schrimm 
declared. 

"To  oblige  me,"  Sam  pleaded.  "I  ain't  been 
downtown  in — excuse  me — such  a  helluva  long  time 
I  don't  know  what  it's  like  at  all." 

"If  you  are  so  anxious  to  get  downtown,  Sam," 
Mrs.  Schrimm  rejoined,  "why  don't  you  go  down  and 
get  lunch  with  Henry?  He'd  be  glad  to  have  you." 

"What,  alone?"  Sam  cried.  "Why,  if  Babette 
would  hear  of  it " 

"Who's  going  to  tell  her?"  Mrs.  Schrimm  asked, 
and  Sam  seized  his  hat  with  trembling  fingers. 

"By  jimminy,  I  would  do  it!"  he  said,  and  then  he 
paused  irresolutely.  "But  how  could  I  get  home  in 
time  if  I  did?" 

A  moment  later  he  snapped  his  fingers. 

"I  got  an  idee!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  are  such 
good  friends  with  Mrs.  Krakauer — ain't  it?" 

Mrs.  Schrimm  nodded. 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  127 

"Then  you  should  do  me  the  favour,  Henrietta, 
and  go  over  to  Mrs.  Krakauer  and  tell  her  she  should 
ring  up  Babette  and  tell  her  I  am  over  at  her  house 
and  I  wouldn't  be  back  till  three  o'clock." 

"Couldn't  you  go  downtown  if  you  want  to?" 
Mrs.  Schrimm  replied.  "Must  you  got  to  ask  Ba- 
bette's  permission  first?" 

Sam  nodded  slowly. 

"You  don't  know  that  girl,  Henrietta,"  he  said 
bitterly.  "She  is  Regina  selig  over  again — only 
worser,  Henrietta." 

"All  right.  I  would  do  as  you  want,"  Mrs. 
Schrimm  declared. 

"Only  one  thing  I  must  got  to  tell  you,"  Sam  said 
as  he  made  for  the  door:  "don't  let  Mrs.  Krakauer 
talk  too  much,  Henrietta,  because  that  girl  is  sus 
picious  like  a  credit  man.  She  don't  believe  nothing 
nobody  tells  her," 

When  Sam  entered  the  showroom  of  Henry 
Schrimm's  place  of  business,  half  an  hour  later,  Henry 
hastened  to  greet  him.  "  Wie  gehts,  Mr.  Gembitz?" 
he  cried. 

He  drew  forward  a  chair  and  Sam  sank  into  it  as 
feebly  as  he  considered  appropriate  to  the  role  of  a 
convalescent. 

"I'm  a  pretty  sick  man,  Henry,"  he  said,  "and  I 
feel  I  ain't  long  for  this  world." 

He  allowed  his  head  to  loll  over  his  left  shoulder  in 


128       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

an  attitude  of  extreme  fatigue;  in  doing  so,  however, 
his  eye  rested  for  a  moment  upon  a  shipping  clerk 
who  was  arranging  Henry's  sample  garments  on  some 
old-fashioned  racks. 

"Say,  lookyhere,  Henry,"  Sam  exclaimed,  raising 
his  head  suddenly,  "how  the  devil  could  you  let  a 
feller  like  that  ruin  your  whole  sample  line?" 

He  jumped  from  his  chair  and  strode  across  the 
showroom. 

" Schlemiel!"  he  cried.  "What  for  you  are  wrink 
ling  them  garments  like  that?" 

He  seized  a  costume  from  the  astonished  shipping 
clerk  and  for  half  an  hour  he  arranged  and  rearranged 
Henry's  samples  until  the  job  was  finished  to  his 
satisfaction. 

"Mr.  Gembitz,"  Henry  protested,  "sit  down  for  a 
minute.  You  would  make  yourself  worse." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  make  myself  worse?"  Sam  de 
manded.  "I  am  just  as  much  able  to  do  this  as  you 
are,  Henry.  Where  do  you  keep  your  piece  goods, 
Henry?" 

Henry  led  the  way  to  the  cutting  room  and  Sam 
Gembitz  inspected  a  dozen  bolts  of  cloth  that  were 
piled  in  a  heap  against  the  wall. 

"That's  just  what  I  thought,  Henry,"  Sam  cried. 
"You  let  them  fellers  keep  the  place  here  like  a  pig- 
sty." 

"Them's  only  a  lot  of  stickers,  Mr.  Gembitz," 
Henry  explained. 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  129 

"Stickers!"  Sam  repeated.  "What  d'ye  mean 
stickers?  That's  the  same  mistake  a  whole  lot  of 
people  makes.  There  ain't  no  such  thing  as  stickers, 
Henry.  Sometimes  you  get  ahold  of  some  piece 
goods  which  is  out  of  demand  for  the  time  being, 
Henry;  but  sooner  or  later  the  fashions  would  change, 
Henry,  and  then  the  stickers  ain't  stickers  no  more. 
They're  live  propositions  again." 

Henry  made  no  reply  and  Sam  continued: 

"Yes,  Henry,"  he  went  on,  "some  people  is  always 
willing  they  should  throw  out  back  numbers  which 
really  ain't  back  numbers  at  all.  Take  them  boys  of 
mine,  for  instance,  Henry,  and  see  how  glad  they  was 
to  get  rid  of  me  on  account  they  think  I  am  a  back 
number;  but  I  ain't,  Henry.  And  just  to  show  you 
I  ain't,  Henry,  do  you  happen  to  have  on  hand  some 
made-up  garments  which  you  think  is  stickers?" 

Henry  nodded. 

"Well,  if  I  don't  come  downtown  to-morrow  morn 
ing  and  with  all  them  there  stickers  sold  for  you," 
Sam  cried,  "my  name  ain't  Sam  Gembitz  at  all." 

"Say,  lookyhere,  Mr.  Gembitz,"  Henry  protested, 
"you  would  make  yourself  sick  again.  Come  out 
and  have  a  bite  of  lunch  with  me." 

"That's  all  right,  Henry,"  Sam  replied.  "I  ain't 
hungry  for  lunch — I  am  hungry  for  work;  and  if  you 
would  be  so  good  and  show  me  them  stickers  which 
you  got  made  up,  Henry,  I  could  assort  'em  in  lots, 
and  to-morrow  morning  I  would  take  a  look-in  on 


1 3o        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

some  of  them  upper  Third  Avenue  stores,  Henry. 
And  if  I  don't  get  rid  of  'em  for  you,  understand  me, 
you  could  got  right  uptown  and  tell  Babette.  Other 
wise  you  should  keep  your  mouth  shut  and  you  and 
me  does  a  whole  lot  of  business  together." 

Half  an  hour  later  Sam  carefully  effaced  the 
evidences  of  his  toil  with  soap  and  water  and  a  whisk- 
broom,  and  began  his  journey  uptown.  Under  one 
arm  he  carried  a  bundle  of  sample  garments  that 
might  have  taxed  the  strength  of  a  much  younger 
man. 

This  bundle  he  deposited  for  safekeeping  with  the 
proprietor  of  a  cigar  store  on  Lenox  Avenue;  and, 
after  a  final  brush-down  by  the  bootblack  on  the 
corner,  he  made  straight  for  his  residence  on  One 
Hundred  and  Eighteenth  Street.  When  he  entered 
he  found  Babette  impatiently  awaiting  him. 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  all  night,  popper ?v  she 
demanded  indignantly.  "Here  I  am  all  dressed  and 
waiting  to  go  downtown — and  you  keep  me  standing 
around  like  this." 

"Another  time  you  shouldn't  wait  at  all,"  Sam 
retorted.  "If  you  want  to  go  downtown,  go  ahead. 
I  could  always  ask  the  girl  for  something  if  I  should 
happen  to  need  it." 

He  watched  Babette  leave  the  house  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  he 
made  intricate  calculations  with  the  stub  of  a  lead 
pencil  on  the  backs  of  old  envelopes.  Ten  minutes 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  131 

before  Babette  returned  he  thrust  the  envelopes  into 
his  pocket  and  smiled  with  satisfaction,  for  he  had 
computed  to  a  nicety  just  how  low  a  price  he  could 
quote  on  Henry  Schrimm's  stickers,  so  as  to  leave  a 
margin  of  profit  for  Henry  after  his  own  commissions 
were  paid. 

The  following  morning  Sam  arrayed  himself  with 
more  than  ordinary  care,  and  promptly  at  ten  o'clock 
he  seized  his  cane  and  started  for  the  door. 

" Where  are  you  going?"  Babette  demanded. 

"I  guess  I  would  take  a  little  walk  in  the  park,"  he 
said  to  his  daughter  in  tremulous  tones,  and  Babette 
eyed  him  somewhat  suspiciously. 

"Furthermore,"  he  said  boldly,  "if  you  want  to 
come  with  me  you  could  do  so.  The  way  you  are 
looking  so  yellow  lately,  Babette,  a  little  walk  in  the 
park  wouldn't  do  you  no  harm." 

Sam  well  knew  that  his  daughter  was  addicted  to 
the  practice  of  facial  massage,  and  he  felt  sure  that 
any  reference  to  yellowness  would  drive  Babette  to 
her  dressing-table  and  keep  her  safely  engaged  with 
mirror  and  cold  cream  until  past  noon. 

"Don't  stay  out  long,"  she  said,  and  Sam  nodded. 

"I  would  be  back  when  I  am  hungry,"  he  replied; 
"  and  maybe  I  would  take  a  look  in  at  Mrs.  Krakauer. 
If  you  get  anxious  about  me  telephone  her." 

Ten  minutes  later  he  called  at  the  cigar  store  on 
Lenox  Avenue  and  secured  his  samples,  after  which 
he  rang  up  Mrs.  Schrimm. 


1 32       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Hello,  Henrietta!"  he  shouted,  "This  is  Sam — 
yes,  Sam  Gembitz.  What  is  the  matter?  Nothing 
is  the  matter.  Huh?  Sure,  I  feel  all  right.  I  give 
you  a  scare  ?  Why  should  I  give  you  a  scare,  Henri 
etta?  Sure,  we  are  old  friends;  but  that  ain't  the 
point,  Henrietta.  I  want  to  ask  you  you  should  do 
me  something  as  a  favour.  You  should  please  be  so 
good  and  ring  up  Mrs.  Krakauer,  which  you  should 
tell  her,  if  Babette  rings  her  up  and  asks  for  me  any 
time  between  now  and  six  o'clock  to-night,  she  should 
say  I  was  there,  but  I  just  left.  Did  you  get  that 
straight?  All  right.  Good-bye/' 

He  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  paid  for  the  tele 
phone  call  and  pocketed  a  handful  of  cheap  cigars. 

"Don't  you  want  a  boy  to  help  you  carry  them 
samples,  Mr.  Gembitz?"  the  proprietor  asked. 

"Do  I  look  like  I  wanted  a  boy  to  help  me  carry 
samples?"  Sam  retorted  indignantly,  and  a  moment 
later  he  swung  aboard  an  eastbound  crosstown  car. 

It  was  past  noon  when  Sam  entered  Henry 
Schrimm's  showroom  and  his  face  bore  a  broad, 
triumphant  grin. 

"Well,  Henry,"  he  shouted,  "what  did  I  told  you? 
To  a  feller  which  he  is  knowing  how  to  sell  goods 
there  ain't  no  such  things  as  stickers." 

"Did  you  get  rid  of 'em?"  Henry  asked. 

Sam  shook  his  head. 

"No,  Henry,"  he  said,  "I  didn't  get  rid  of  'em— I 
sold  'em;  and,  furthermore,  Henry,  I  sold  four  hundred 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  133 

dollars'  worth  more  just  like  'em  to  Mr.  Rosett,  of  the 
Rochelle  Department  Store,  which  you  should  send 
him  right  away  a  couple  sample  garments  of  them 
I04o's." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  1040*8 ?"  Henry  asked.  "I  ain't 
got  no  such  lot  number  in  my  place." 

"No,  I  know  you  ain't;  but  I  mean  our  style  1040 
— that  is  to  say,  Gembitz  Brothers'  style  1040." 

Henry  blushed. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about  at  all," 
he  said. 

"No?"  Sam  retorted  slyly.  "Well,  I'll  describe  it 
to  you,  Henry.  It's  what  you  would  call  a  princess 
dress  in  tailor-made  effects.  The  waist's  got  lapels  of 
the  same  goods,  with  a  little  braid  on  to  it,  two  plaits 
in  the  middle  and  one  on  each  shoulder;  yoke  and 
collar  of  silk  net;  and— 

"You  mean  my  style  number  2018?"  Henry  asked. 

"I  don't  mean  nothing,  Henry,"  Sam  declared, 
"because  you  shouldn't  throw  me  no  bluffs,  Henry. 
I  seen  one  of  them  garments  in  your  cutting  room 
only  yesterday,  Henry,  which,  if  it  wasn't  made  up  in 
my  old  factory,  I  would  eat  it,  Henry — and  Doctor 
Eichendorfer  says  I  got  to  be  careful  with  my  diet  at 
that." 

Henry  shrugged. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "there  ain't  no  harm  if " 

"Sure,  there  ain't  no  harm,  Henry,"  Sam  said, 
"because  them  garments  is  going  like  hot  cakes.  A 


i34        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

big  concern  like  Falkstatter,  Fein  &  Company  takes 
over  three  thousand  dollars'  worth  from  the  boys  for 
their  stores  in  Sarahcuse,  Rochester,  and  Buffalo." 

"Falkstatter,  Fein  &  Company!"  Henry  cried. 
"Does  them  boys  of  yours  sell  Falkstatter,  Fein  & 
Company?" 

"Sure,"  Sam  answered.     "Why  not?" 

"  Why  not ?"  Henry  repeated.   "Ain't  you  heard ? " 

"I  ain't  heard  nothing,"  Sam  replied;  "but  I  know 
that  concern  for  twenty  years  since  already,  Henry, 
and  they  always  pay  prompt  to  the  day." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Henry  said;  "but  only  this  morn 
ing  I  seen  Sol  Klinger  in  the  subway  and  Sol  tells 
me  Simon  Falkstatter  committed  suicide  last  night." 

"  Committed  suicide ! "  Sam  gasped.    "  What  for  ? " 

"I  don't  know  what  for,"  Henry  replied;  "but 
nobody  commits  suicide  for  pleasure,  Mr.  Gembitz, 
and  if  a  man  is  in  business,  like  Falkstatter,  when 
Marshall  Field's  was  new  beginners  already,  Mr. 
Gembitz,  and  he  sees  he  is  got  to  bust  up,  Mr.  Gem 
bitz,  what  should  he  do?" 

Sam  rose  to  his  feet  and  seized  his  hat  and  cane. 

"Going  home  so  soon,  Mr.  Gembitz?"  Henry 
asked. 

"No,  I  ain't  going  home,  Henry,"  Sam  replied. 
"I'm  going  over  to  see  my  boys.  I  guess  they  need 


me." 


He  started  for  the  door,  but  as  he  reached  it  he 
paused. 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  135 

"By  the  way,  Henry,"  he  said,  "on  my  way  down 
I  stopped  in  to  see  that  new  concern  there  on  Fifth 
Avenue — Weldon,  Jones  &  Company — and  you  should 
send  'em  up  also  a  couple  of  them  princess  dresses 
in  brown  and  smoke.  I'll  see  you  to-morrow." 

"Do  you  think  you  could  get  down  again  to 
morrow?"  Henry  asked. 

"I  don't  know,  Henry;  but  if  lies  could  get  me  here 
I  guess  I  could,"  Sam  replied.  "Because,  the  way 
my  children  fixes  me  lately,  I  am  beginning  to  be 
such  a  liar  that  you  could  really  say  I  am  an  expert." 

Ten  minutes  later  Sam  Gembitz  walked  into  the 
elevator  of  his  late  place  of  business  and  smiled  af 
fably  at  the  elevator  boy,  who  returned  his  greeting 
with  a  perfunctory  nod. 

"Well,  what's  new  around  here,  Louis?"  Sam 
asked. 

"I  dunno,  Mr.  Gembitz,"  the  elevator  boy  said. 
"I  am  only  just  coming  back  from  my  lunch." 

"I  mean  what  happens  since  I  am  going  away, 
Louis?"  Sam  continued. 

"I  didn't  know  you  went  away  at  all,  Mr.  Gem 
bitz,"  the  elevator  boy  replied. 

"Dummer  Esel!"  Sam  exclaimed.  "Don't  you 
know  I  was  sick  and  I  am  going  away  from  here  schon 
three  months  ago  pretty  near?" 

The  elevator  boy  stopped  the  car  at  Gembitz 
Brothers'  floor  and  spat  deliberately. 


136       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"In  the  building  is  twenty  tenants,  Mr.  Gembitz," 
he  said,  "and  the  way  them  fellers  is  sitting  up  all 
hours  of  the  night,  shikkering  and  gambling,  if  I 
would  keep  track  which  of  'em  is  sick  and  which  ain't 
sick,  Mr.  Gembitz,  I  wouldn't  got  no  time  to  run  the 
elevator  at  all." 

If  the  elevator  boy's  indifference  made  Sam  waver 
in  the  belief  that  he  was  sorely  missed  downtown  the 
appearance  of  his  late  showroom  convinced  him  of  his 
mistake.  The  yellow-pine  fixtures  had  disappeared, 
and  in  place  of  his  old  walnut  table  there  had  been 
installed  three  rolltop  desks  of  the  latest  Wall  Street 
design. 

At  the  largest  of  these  sat  Max,  who  wheeled  about 
suddenly  as  his  father  entered. 

"What  are  you  doing  down  here?"  he  demanded 
savagely. 

"Ain't  I  got  no  right  in  my  own  business  at  all?" 
Sam  asked  mildly. 

"Sidney!"  Max  cried,  and  in  response  his  youngest 
brother  appeared. 

"Put  on  your  hat  and  take  the  old  man  home,"  he 
said. 

"One  minute,  Sidney,"  Sam  said.  "In  the  first 
place,  Max,  before  we  talk  about  going  home,  I  want 
to  ask  you  a  question:  How  much  does  Falkstatter, 
Fein  &  Company  owe  us  ? " 

"Us?"  Max  repeated. 

"Well— you?"  Sam  replied. 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  137 

"What's  that  your  business?"  Max  retorted. 

"What  is  that  my  business?"  Sam  gasped.  "A 
question!  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like,  Sidney?  He 
asks  me  what  it  is  my  business  supposing  Falkstatter, 
Fein  &  Company  owes  us  a  whole  lot  of  money! 
Ain't  that  a  fine  way  to  talk,  Sidney?" 

Sidney's  pasty  face  coloured  and  he  bit  his  lips 
nervously. 

"Max  is  right,  popper,"  he  said.  "You  ain't  got 
no  call  to  come  down  here  and  interfere  in  our  affairs. 
I'll  put  on  my  hat  and  go  right  home  with  you." 

It  was  now  Sam's  turn  to  blush,  and  he  did  so  to 
the  point  of  growing  purple  with  rage. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,"  he  cried;  "because  I  ain't 
going  home!" 

"What  d'ye  mean,  y'ain't  going  home?"  Max  said 
threateningly. 

"I  mean  what  I  say!"  Sam  declared.  "I  mean  I 
ain't  going  home  never  again.  You  are  throwing  me 
out  of  my  business,  Max,  and  you  would  soon  try  to 
throw  me  out  of  my  home,  too,  if  I  couldn't  protect 
myself.  But  I  ain't  so  old  and  I  ain't  so  sick  but 
what  I  could  take  care  of  myself,  Max." 

"Why,  Doctor  Eichendorfer  says '  Sidney 

began. 

"Doctor  Eichendorfer!"  Sam  roared.  "Who  is 
Doctor  Eichendorfer?  He  is  a  doctor,  not  a  lawyer, 
Max,  and  maybe  he  knows  about  kidneys,  Max;  but 
*he  don't  know  nothing  about  business,  Max!  And, 


138       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

so  help  me,  Max,  I  would  give  you  till  Wednesday 
afternoon  three  o'clock;  if  you  don't  send  me  a 
certified  check  for  five  thousand  dollars  over  to  Henry 
Schrimm's  place,  I  would  go  right  down  and  see 
Henry  D.  Feldman,  and  I  would  bust  your  business 
— my  business! — open  from  front  to  rear,  so  that 
there  wouldn't  be  a  penny  left  for  nobody — except 
Henry  D.  Feldman." 

Here  he  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"And,  furthermore,  Max,"  he  concluded,  as  he 
made  for  the  door,  "don't  try  any  monkey  business 
with  spreading  reports  I  am  gone  crazy  or  anything, 
because  I  know  that's  just  what  you  would  do,  Max! 
And  if  you  would,  Max,  instead  of  five  thousand 
dollars  I  would  want  ten  thousand  dollars.  And  if  I 
wouldn't  get  it,  Max,  Henry  D.  Feldman  would — so 
what  is  the  difference?" 

He  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  elevator  bell  and 
faced  his  sons  again. 

"Solomon  was  right,  Max,"  he  concluded.  "He 
was  an  old-timer,  Max;  but,  just  the  same,  he  knew 
what  he  was  talking  about  when  he  said  that  you 
bring  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go  and  when 
he  gets  old  he  bites  you  like  a  serpent's  tooth 
yet!" 

At  this  juncture  the  elevator  door  opened  and  Sam 
delivered  his  ultimatum. 

"But  you  got  a  different  proposition  here,  boys," 
he  said; "  and  before  you  get  through  with  me  I  would 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  139 

show  you  that  oncet  in  a  while  a  father  could  got  a 
serpent's  tooth,  too — and  don't  you  forget  it!" 

"Mr.  Gembitz,"  the  elevator  boy  interrupted, 
" there  is  here  in  the  building  already  twenty  tenants; 
and  other  people  as  yourself  wants  to  ride  in  the 
elevator,  too,  Mr.  Gembitz." 

Thus  admonished,  Sam  entered  the  car  and  a 
moment  later  he  found  himself  on  the  sidewalk.  In 
stinctively  he  walked  toward  the  subway  station,  al 
though  he  had  intended  to  return  to  Henry  Schrimm's 
office;  but,  before  he  again  became  conscious  of  his 
surroundings,  he  was  seated  in  a  Lenox  Avenue  ex 
press  with  an  early  edition  of  the  evening  paper  held 
upside  down  before  him. 

"Nah,  well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "what  is  the 
difference?  I  wouldn't  try  to  do  no  more  business 
to-day." 

He  straightened  up  the  paper  and  at  once  com 
menced  to  study  the  financial  page.  Unknown  to 
his  children,  he  had  long  rented  a  safe-deposit  box,  in 
which  reposed  ten  first-mortgage  bonds  of  a  trunk- 
line  railroad,  together  with  a  few  shares  of  stock  pur 
chased  by  him  during  the  Northern  Pacific  panic. 
He  noted,  with  a  satisfied  grin,  that  the  stock  showed 
a  profit  of  fifty  points,  while  the  bonds  had  advanced 
three  eighths  of  a  point. 

"Three  eighths  ain't  much,"  he  muttered  as  he  sat 
still  while  the  train  left  One  Hundred  and  Sixteenth 
Street  station,  "  but  there  is  a  whole  lot  of  rabonim 


i4o       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

which  would  marry  you  for  less  than  thirty-seven 
dollars  and  fifty  cents." 

He  threw  the  paper  to  the  floor  as  the  train  stopped 
at  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street  and,  with 
out  a  moment's  hesitation,  ascended  to  the  street 
level  and  walked  two  blocks  north  to  One  Hundred 
and  Twenty-seventh  Street.  There  he  rang  the  base 
ment  bell  of  an  old-fashioned  brown-stone  residence 
and  Mrs.  Schrimm  in  person  opened  the  door.  When 
she  observed  her  visitor  she  shook  her  head  slowly 
from  side  to  side  and  emitted  inarticulate  sounds 
through  her  nose,  indicative  of  extreme  commiser 
ation. 

"Ain't  you  going  to  get  the  devil  when  Babette 
sees  you!"  she  said  at  last.  "Mrs.  Krakauer  tells 
her  six  times  over  the  'phone  already  you  just  went 
home." 

"Could  I  help  it  what  that  woman  tells  Babette?" 
Sam  asked.  "And,  anyhow,  Henrietta,  what  do  I 
care  what  Mrs.  Krakauer  tells  Babette  or  what 
Babette  tells  Mrs.  Krakauer?  And,  furthermore, 
Henrietta,  Babette  could  never  give  me  the  devil 
no  more!" 

"No?"  Mrs.  Schrimm  said  as  she  led  the  way  to 
the  dining-room.  "You're  talking  awful  big,  Sam, 
for  a  feller  which  he  never  calls  his  soul  his  own  in  his 
own  home  yet." 

"Them  times  is  past,  Henrietta,"  Sam  answered  as 
he  sat  down  and  removed  his  hat.  "To-day  things 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  141 

begin  differently  for  me,  Henrietta;  because,  Henri 
etta,  you  and  me  is  old  enough  to  know  our  own 
business,  understand  me — and  if  I  would  say  'black' 
you  wouldn't  say  'white.'  And  if  you  would  say 
'black'  I  would  say  'black'." 

Mrs.  Schrimm  looked  hard  at  Sam  and  then  she 
sat  down  on  the  sofa. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  black?"  she  gasped. 

"I'm  only  talking  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  Henri 
etta,"  Sam  explained.  "What  I  mean  is  this." 

He  pulled  an  old  envelope  out  of  his  pocket  and 
explored  his  waistcoat  for  a  stump  of  lead  pencil. 

"What  I  mean  is,"  he  continued,  wetting  the  blunt 
point  with  his  tongue,  "ten  bonds  from  Canadian 
Western,  first  mortgage  from  gold,  mit  a  garantirt 
from  the  Michigan  Midland  Railroad,  ten  thousand 
dollars,  interest  at  6  per  cent. — is  six  hundred 
dollars  a  year,  ain't  it?" 

"Ye-ee-s,"  Mrs.  Schrimm  said  hesitatingly, 
"Und?" 

"Und,"  Sam  said  triumphantly,  "fifty  shares 
from  Central  Pacific  at  154  apiece  is  seventy-seven 
hundred  dollars,  with  dividends  since  thirty  years 
they  are  paying  it  at  4  per  cent,  is  two  hundred 
dollars  a  year  more,  ain't  it?" 

Mrs.  Schrimm  nodded. 

"What  has  all  this  got  to  do  with  me,  Sam?"  she 
asked. 

Sam  cleared  his  throat. 


i42       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"A  wife  should  know  how  her  husband  stands,"  he 
said  huskily.  "Ain't  it  so,  Henrietta,  leben?" 

Mrs.  Schrimm  nodded  again. 

"Did  you  speak  to  Henry  anything,  Sam?"  she 
asked. 

"I  didn't  say  nothing  to  Henry  yet,"  Sam  replied; 
"but  if  he's  satisfied  with  the  business  I  done  for  him 
this  morning  I  would  make  him  a  partnership  propo 


sition." 


"But,  listen  here  to  me,  Sam,"  Mrs.  Schrimm 
protested.  "Me  I  am  already  fifty-five  years  old; 
and  a  man  like  you  which  you  got  money,  understand 
me,  if  you  want  to  get  married  you  could  find  plenty 
girls  forty  years  old  which  would  only  be  glad 
they  should  marry  you — good-looking  girls,  too, 
Sam." 

" Koosh!"  Sam  cried,  for  he  had  noted  a  tear  steal 
from  the  corner  of  Mrs.  Schrimm's  eye.  He  rose 
from  his  chair  and  seated  himself  on  the  sofa  beside 
her.  "You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about," 
he  said  as  he  clasped  her  hand.  "Good  looks  to  some 
people  is  red  cheeks  and  black  hair,  Henrietta;  but 
with  me  it  is  different.  The  best-looking  woman  in  the 
whole  world  to  me,  Henrietta,  is  got  gray  hair,  with 
good  brains  underneath — and  she  is  also  a  little  fat, 
too,  understand  me;  but  the  heart  is  big  underneath 
and  the  hands  is  red,  but  they  got  red  doing  mitzvahs 
for  other  people,  Henrietta." 

He  paused  and  cleared  his  throat  again. 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  143 

"And  so,  Henrietta,"  he  concluded,  "if  you  want 
me  to  marry  a  good-looking  girl — this  afternoon  yet 
we  could  go  downtown  and  get  the  license." 

Mrs.  Schrimm  sat  still  for  two  minutes  and 
then  she  disengaged  her  hand  from  Sam's  eager 
clasp. 

"All  I  got  to  do  is  to  put  on  a  clean  waist,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  would  get  my  hat  on  in  ten  minutes." 

"The  fact  of  the  matter  is,"  Max  Gembitz  said, 
two  days  later,  "we  ain't  got  the  ready  money." 

Sam  Gembitz  nodded.  He  sat  at  a  desk  in  Henry 
Schrimm's  office — a  new  desk  of  the  latest  Wall  Street 
design;  and  on  the  third  finger  of  his  left  hand  a  plain 
gold  band  was  surmounted  by  a  three-carat  diamond 
ring,  the  gift  of  the  bride. 

"No?"  he  said,  with  a  rising  inflection. 

"And  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  popper,  we  was 
always  a  little  short  this  time  of  the  year  in  our 
business!"  Max  continued. 

"Our  business?"  Sam  repeated.  "You  mean  your 
business,  Max." 

"What  difference  does  it  make?"  Max  asked. 

"It  makes  a  whole  lot  of  difference,  Max,"  Sam 
declared;  "because,  if  I  would  be  a  partner  in  your 
business,  Max,  I  would  practically  got  to  be  one  of 
my  own  competitors." 

"One  of  your  own  competitors!"  Max  cried. 
"What  d'ye  mean?" 


144       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

For   answer   Sam   handed   his   son  the  following 
card: 


SAMUEL  GEMBITZ  HENRY   SCHRIMM 

GEMBITZ  &  SCHRIMM 

CLOAKS  &  SUITS 
— WEST  NINETEENTH  STREET  NEW  YORK 


Max  gazed  at  the  card  for  five  minutes  and  then  he 
placed  it  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

"So  you  are  out  to  do  us — what?"  Max  said 
bitterly. 

"What  are  you  talking  about — out  to  do  you?" 
Sam  replied.  "How  could  an  old-timer  like  me  do 
three  up-to-date  fellers  like  you  and  Sidney  and 
Lester?  I'm  a  back  number,  Max.  I  ain't  got 
gumption  enough  to  make  up  a  whole  lot  of  garments, 
all  in  one  style,  pastel  shades,  and  sell  'em  all  to  a 
concern  which  is  on  its  last  legs,  Max.  I  couldn't 
play  this  here  Baytzimmer  feller's  pool,  Max,  and  I 
couldn't  sit  up  all  hours  of  the  night  eating  lobsters 
and  oysters  and  ham  and  bacon  in  the  Harlem  Winter 
Garden,  Max." 

He  paused  to  indulge  in  a  malicious  grin. 

"Furthermore,  Max,"  he  continued,  "how  could  a 
poor,  sick  old  man  compete  with  a  lot  of  healthy 
young  fellers  like  you  boys?  I've  got  Bright's 
Disease,  Max,  and  I  could  drop  down  in  the  street 
any  minute.  And  if  you  don't  believe  me,  Max,  you 


SERPENTS'  TEETH  145 

should  ask  Doctor  Eichendorfer.  He  will  tell  you 
the  same." 

Max  made  no  reply,  but  took  up  his  hat  from  the 
top  of  Sam's  desk. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Max,"  Sam  said.  "Don't  be  in 
such  a  hurry,  Max,  because,  after  all,  you  boys  is  my 
sons,  anyhow;  and  so  I  got  a  proposition  to  make  to 
you." 

He  pointed  to  a  chair  and  Max  sat  down. 

"First,  Max,"  he  went  on,  "I  wouldn't  ask  you  for 
cash.  What  I  want  is  you  should  give  me  a  note  at 
one  year  for  five  thousand  dollars,  without  interest." 

"So  far  as  I  could  see,"  Max  interrupted,  "we 
wouldn't  be  in  no  better  condition  to  pay  you  five 
thousand  dollars  in  one  year  as  we  are  to-day." 

"I  didn't  think  you  would  be,"  Sam  said,  "but  I 
figured  that  all  out;  and  if,  before  the  end  of  one  year, 
you  three  boys  would  turn  around  and  go  to  work  and 
get  a  decent,  respectable  feller  which  he  would  marry 
Babette  and  make  a  home  for  her,  understand  me,  I 
would  give  you  back  your  note." 

"But  how  could  we  do  that?"  Max  exclaimed. 

"I  leave  that  to  you,"  Sam  replied;  "because,  any 
how,  Max,  there's  plenty  fellers  which  is  designers 
oder  bookkeepers  which  would  marry  Babette  in  a 
minute  if  they  could  get  a  partnership  in  an  old, 
established  concern  like  yours." 

"But  Babette  don't  want  to  get  married,"  Max 
declared. 


146       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Don't  she?"  Sam  retorted.  "Well,  if  a  woman 
stands  hours  and  hours  in  front  of  the  glass  and  rubs 
her  face  mit  cold  cream  and  Gott  weiss  what  else,  Max, 
if  she  don't  want  to  get  married  I'd  like  to  know  what 
she  does  want." 

Again  Max  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  tell  the  boys  what  you  say,"  he  murmured. 

"Sure,"  Sam  said  heartily,  "and  tell  'em  also  they 
should  drop  in  oncet  in  a  while  and  see  mommer  and 
me  up  in  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-seventh  Street." 

Max  nodded. 

"And  tell  Babette  to  come,  also,"  Sam  added;  but 
Max  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid  she  wouldn't  do  it,"  he  declared. 
"She  says  yesterday  she  wouldn't  speak  to  you  again 
so  long  as  you  live." 

Sam  emitted  a  sigh  that  was  a  trifle  too  emphatic 
in  its  tremulousness. 

"I'm  sorry  she  feels  that  way,  Max,"  he  said; 
"but  it's  an  old  saying  and  a  true  one,  Max:  you 
couldn't  make  no  omelets  without  beating  eggs." 


CHAPTER  FIVE 
MAKING  OVER  MILTON 

TAKE  it  from  me,Mr.Zwiebel,  that  boy  would 
never  amount  to  nothing,"  said  Levy  Roth- 
man,  as  they  sat  in  the  rear  room  of  Wasser- 
bauer's  Cafe  and  restaurant. 

"You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Rothman,"  Charles 
Zwiebel  replied;  "the  boy  is  only  a  little  wild,  y'un- 
derstand,  and  if  I  could  get  him  to  settle  down  and 
learn  a  business,  Mr.  Rothman,  he  would  settle  down. 
After  all,  Mr.  Rothman,  he  is  only  a  boy,  y'under- 
stand." 

"At  twenty-one,"  Rothman  replied,  "a  boy  ain't 
a  boy  no  longer,  Mr.  Zwiebel.  Either  he  is  a  man  or 
he  is  a  loafer,  y'understand." 

"The  boy  ain't  no  loafer,  Mr.  Rothman.  He's 
got  a  good  heart,  Mr.  Rothman,  and  he  is  honest 
like  the  day.  That  boy  wouldn't  dream  of  taking 
no  money  from  the  cash  drawer,  Mr.  Rothman, 
without  he  would  tell  me  all  about  it  afterward. 
That's  the  kind  of  boy  he  is,  Mr.  Rothman;  and  cer 
tainly  Mrs.  Zwiebel  she  thinks  a  whole  lot  of  him, 
too.  Not  that  he  doesn't  think  a  whole  lot  of  her, 


148        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Mr.  Rothman.  Yes,  Mr.  Rothman,  that  boy  thinks 
a  whole  lot  of  his  mother.  If  he  would  stay  out  all 
night  he  always  says  to  her  the  next  morning,  'Mom- 
mer,  you  shouldn't  worry  about  me,  because  I  could 
always  take  care  of  myself/  and  I  bet  yer  that  boy 
could  take  care  of  himself,  too,  Mr.  Rothman.  I 
seen  that  boy  sit  in  a  game  with  such  sharks  like 
Moe  Rabiner  and  Marks  Pasinsky,  and  them  fellers 
couldn't  do  nothing  with  him.  Yes,  Mr.  Rothman, 
that  boy  is  a  natural-born  pinochle  player." 

"Might  you  think  that  a  recommendation,  may 
be?"  Rothman  exclaimed. 

"Well,  Mr.  Rothman,  my  brother  Sol,  selig,  used 
to  say,  'Show  me  a  good  pinochle  player  and  I  will 
show  you  a  natural-born  salesman/' 

"Yes,  Mr.  Zwiebel,"  Rothman  retorted,  "and 
show  me  a  salesman  what  is  a  good  pinochle  player, 
Mr.  Zwiebel,  and  I  will  also  show  you  a  feller  what 
fools  away  his  time  and  sells  the  firm's  samples. 
No,  Mr.  Zwiebel,  if  I  would  take  your  boy  in  my 
place  I  certainly  wouldn't  take  him  because  he  is  a 
good  pinochle  player.  Ain't  he  got  no  other  recom 
mendation,  Mr.  Zwiebel?" 

"Well,  certainly,  everybody  what  that  boy  worked 
for,  Mr.  Rothman,  couldn't  say  enough  about  him," 
Mr.  Zwiebel  said  enigmatically;  "but, anyhow, what's 
the  use  talking,  Mr.  Rothman?  I  got  this  proposi 
tion  to  make  you:  Take  the  boy  into  your  place 
and  learn  him  the  business,  and  all  you  would  got  to 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  149 

pay  him  is  five  dollars  a  week.  Myself  I  will  put 
ten  to  it,  and  you  could  pay  him  fifteen,  and  the  boy 
wouldn't  got  to  know  nothing  about  it." 

"I  wouldn't  give  him  five  dollars  a  week  or  five 
cents,  neither,"  Mr.  Rothman  answered  in  tones  of 
finality.  "Because  I  don't  need  nobody  in  my  place 
at  present,  and  if  I  would  need  somebody  I  would  hire 
it  a  feller  what  knows  the  business.  I  got  lots  of 
experience  with  new  beginners  already,  Mr.  Zwiebel, 
and  I  always  lost  money  by  'em." 

Mr.  Zwiebel  received  this  ultimatum  in  so  crest 
fallen  a  manner  that  Rothman's  flinty  heart  was 
touched. 

"Lookyhere,  Mr.  Zwiebel,"  he  said,  "I  got  a  boy, 
too,  only,  Gott  sei  dank,  the  young  feller  ain't  a  loafer, 
y'understand.  He's  now  in  his  third  year  in  law 
school,  and  I  never  had  a  bit  of  trouble  with  that 
boy.  Because  I  don't  want  you  to  feel  bad,  Mr. 
Zwiebel,  but  if  I  do  say  it  myself,  that  boy  is  a  good 
boy,  y'understand;  none  better,  Mr.  Zwiebel,  I  don't 
care  where  you  would  go.  That  boy  comes  home, 
y'understand,  every  night,  y'understand,  except  the 
night  when  he  goes  to  lodge  meeting,  and  he  takes 
down  his  books  and  learns  it  till  his  mommer's  got 
to  say  to  him:  'Ferdy,  lieben,  you  would  ruin  your 
eyes.'  That  boy  is  only  twenty-three,  Mr.  Zwiebel, 
and  already  he  is  way  up  in  the  I.  O.  M.  A.  They 
give  that  young  feller  full  charge  for  their  annual 
ball  two  years  already,  and " 


1 5o       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Rothman,"  Zwiebel  broke  in. 
"I  got  to  get  back  to  my  business,  and  so,  therefore, 
I  want  to  make  you  a  final  proposition.  Take  the 
boy  into  your  place  and  I  would  give  you  each  week 
fifteen  dollars  you  should  pay  him  for  his  wages." 

"I  wouldn't  positively  do  nothing  of  the  kind," 
Rothman  cried. 

"And" — Mr.  Zwiebel  said  as  though  he  were 
merely  extending  his  remark  instead  of  voicing  an 
idea  that  had  just  occurred  to  him — "and  I  will 
invest  in  your  business  two  thousand  dollars  which 
you  would  only  pay  me  savings-bank  interest." 

Rothman's  eyes  glittered,  but  he  only  laughed  by 
way  of  reply. 

"Ain't  that  a  fair  proposition?" 

"You  must  think  I  need  money  bad  in  my  busi 
ness,"  Rothman  commented. 

"Every  man  in  the  cloak  and  suit  business  needs 
money  this  year,  Rothman,"  said  Zwiebel,  who  was 
in  the  cigar  business.  His  specialty  was  the  manu 
facture  of  cigars  for  the  entertainment  of  cloak  and 
suit  customers,  and  his  own  financial  affairs  accu 
rately  reflected  conditions  in  the  woman's  outer  gar 
ment  trade.  For  instance,  when  cloak  buyers  are 
anxious  to  buy  goods  the  frugal  manufacturer  with 
holds  his  hospitality;  but  if  the  demand  for  cloaks 
is  slack,  then  M  to  Z  customers  are  occasionally  re 
galed  with  cigars  from  the  "gilt-edged"  box.  This 
season  Zwiebel  was  selling  more  and  better  cigars 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  151 

than  for  many  years  past,  and  he  made  his  deductions 
accordingly. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Rothman,"  Zwiebel  concluded,  "there's 
plenty  cloak  and  suit  men  would  be  glad  to  get  a 
young  feller  like  my  Milton  on  such  terms  what  I 
offer  it." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  talk  to  'em  about  it?"  Roth 
man  replied.  "  I  am  satisfied." 

But  there  was  something  about  Rothman's  face 
that  to  Zwiebel  augured  well  for  his  son's  regenera 
tion.  Like  the  advertised  loft  buildings  in  the  cloak 
and  suit  district,  Mr.  Rothman's  face  was  of  steel 
construction  throughout,  and  Zwiebel  felt  so  sure 
of  Rothman's  ability  to  cope  with  Milton's  short 
comings  that  he  raised  the  bid  to  three  thousand 
dollars.  Firmness,  however,  is  a  quality  that  makes 
for  success  in  every  phase  of  business,  particularly 
in  bargaining;  and  when  the  deal  was  closed  Rothman 
had  hired  Milton  Zwiebel  for  nothing  a  week.  Mr. 
Zwiebel,  on  his  part,  had  agreed  to  invest  five  thou 
sand  dollars  in  Rothman's  business,  the  same  to  bear 
interest  at  3  per  cent,  per  annum.  He  had  also 
bound  himself  to  repay  Rothman  the  weekly  salary 
of  fifteen  dollars  which  Milton  was  to  receive,  and 
when  they  parted  they  shook  hands  warmly  on  the 
transaction. 

"Well,  Mr.  Rothman,"  Zwiebel  concluded,  "I 
hope  you  will  see  to  it  the  boy  behaves  himself." 

Rothman's  mouth  described  a  downward  arc. 


152        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Don't  worry,  Mr.  Zwiebel,"  he  said;  "leave  it  to 


it 

9) 


me. 


Milton  Zwiebel  had  not  found  his  metier.  He 
had  tried  almost  everything  in  the  Business  Direc 
tory  from  Architectural  Iron  Work  to  Yarns,  Do 
mestic  and  Imported,  and  had  ascertained  all  of  them 
to  be  lacking  in  the  one  quality  he  craved — excite 
ment. 

"That  boy  is  looking  for  trouble  all  the  time,  mom 
mer,"  Charles  Zwiebel  said  to  his  wife  on  the  night 
after  his  conversation  with  Rothman,  "and  I  guess 
he  will  get  so  much  as  he  wants  by  Rothman.  Such 
a  face  I  never  seen  it  before,  like  Haman.  If  Milton 
should  get  fresh  with  him,  mommer,  he  would  get  it 
a  Schlag,  I  bet  yer." 

"Ain't  you  ashamed  to  talk  that  way?"  Mrs. 
Zwiebel  protested. 

"It'll  do  the  boy  good,  mommer,"  Mr.  Zwiebel 
replied.  "That  boy  is  a  regular  loafer.  It's  eleven 
o'clock  already  and  he  ain't  home  yet.  What  that 
lowlife  does  when  he  stays  out  till  all  hours  of  the 
night  I  don't  know.  One  thing  is  sure,  he  ain't  doing 
no  good.  I  hate  to  think  where  that  boy  will  end 
up,  mommer." 

He  shook  his  head  and  heavily  ascended  the  stairs 
to  bed,  while  Mrs.  Zwiebel  settled  herself  down  with 
the  evening  paper  to  await  Milton's  return. 

She  had  a  weary  vigil  ahead  of  her,  for  Milton  had 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  153 

at  last  found  serious  employment.  Only  that  even 
ing  he  had  been  engaged  by  Professor  Felix  Lusthaus 
as  a  double-bass  player  in  Lusthaus's  grand  orchestra 
of  forty  pieces.  This  organization  had  been  hired 
to  render  the  dance  music  for  the  fifteenth  annual 
ball  of  Harmony  Lodge,  142,  I.  O.  M.  A.,  and  the 
chairman  of  the  entertainment  committee  had  been 
influenced  in  his  selection  by  the  preponderating 
number  of  the  orchestra's  members  over  other  com 
peting  bands. 

Now,  to  the  inexperienced  ear  twenty-five  players 
will  emit  nearly  as  much  noise  as  forty,  and  in  view 
of  this  circumstance  Professor  Lusthaus  was  accus 
tomed  to  hire  twenty-five  bona-fide  rnembers  of  the 
musical  union,  while  the  remaining  fifteen  pieces 
were  what  are  technically  known  as  sleepers.  That 
is  to  say,  Professor  Lusthaus  provided  them  with 
instruments  and  they  were  directed  to  go  through 
the  motions  without  making  any  sound. 

Milton,  for  instance,  was  instructed howto  manipu 
late  the  fingerboard  of  his  ponderous  instrument, 
but  he  was  enjoined  to  draw  his  bow  across  the  metal 
base  of  the  music-stand  and  to  avoid  the  strings  upon 
peril  of  his  job.  During  the  opening  two-step  Mil 
ton's  behaviour  was  exemplary.  He  watched  the 
antics  of  the  other  contra  basso  and  duplicated  them 
so  faithfully  as  to  call  for  a  commendatory  nod  from 
the  Professor  at  the  conclusion  of  the  number. 

His  undoing  began  with  the  second  dance,  which 


154       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

was  a  waltz.  As  contra  basso  performer  he  stood  with 
his  fellow-artist  at  the  rear  of  the  platform  facing 
the  dancing  floor,  and  no  sooner  had  Professor  Lust- 
haus's  baton  directed  the  first  few  measures  than 
Milton's  imitation  grew  spiritless.  He  had  espied 
a  little  girl  in  white  with  eyes  that  flashed  her  en 
joyment  of  the  dreamy  rhythm.  Her  cheeks  glowed 
and  her  lips  were  parted,  while  her  tiny  gloved  hand 
rested  like  a  flower  on  the  shoulder  of  her  partner. 
They  waltzed  half-time,  as  the  vernacular  has  it,  and 
to  Milton  it  seemed  like  the  apotheosis  of  the  dance. 
He  gazed  wide-eyed  at  the  fascinating  scene  and  was 
only  brought  to  himself  when  the  drummer  poked 
him  in  the  ribs  with  the  butt  end  of  the  drumstick. 
For  the  remainder  of  the  waltz  he  performed  dis 
creetly  on  the  music-stand  and  his  fingers  chased 
themselves  up  and  down  the  strings  with  lifelike 
rapidity. 

"Hey,  youse,"  Professor  Lusthaus  hissed  after  he 
had  laid  down  his  baton,  "what  yer  trying  to  do? 
Queer  the  whole  thing?  Hey?" 

"I  thought  I — now — seen  a  friend  of  mine,"  Milton 
said  lamely. 

"Oh,  yer  did,  did  yer?"  Professor  Lusthaus  re 
torted.  "Well,  when  you  play  with  this  here  or 
chestra  you  want  to  remember  you  ain't  got  a  friend 
in  the  world,  see  ? " 

Milton  nodded. 

"And,    furthermore,"    the    Professor    concluded, 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  155 

"make  some  more  breaks  like  that  and  see  what'll 
happen  you." 

Waltzes  and  two-steps  succeeded  each  other  with 
monotonous  regularity  until  the  grand  march  for 
supper  was  announced.  For  three  years  Ferdy  Roth- 
man  had  been  chairman  of  the  entertainment  and 
floor  committee  of  Harmony  Lodge  I.  O.  M.  A.'s 
annual  ball,  and  he  was  a  virtuoso  in  the  intricate 
art  of  arranging  a  grand  march  to  supper.  His  aids 
were  six  in  number,  and  as  Ferdy  marched  up  the 
ballroom  floor  they  were  standing  with  their  backs 
to  the  music  platform  ten  paces  apart.  When  Ferdy 
arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  platform  he  faced  about  and 
split  the  line  of  marching  couples.  The  ladies  wheeled 
sharply  to  the  right  and  the  gentlemen  to  the  left,  and 
thereafter  began  a  series  of  evolutions  which,  in  the 
mere  witnessing,  would  have  given  a  blacksnake  lum 
bago. 

Again  Milton  became  entranced  and  his  fingers 
remained  motionless  on  the  strings,  while,  instead 
of  sawing  away  on  the  music-stand,  his  right  arm 
hung  by  his  side.  Once  more  the  drummer  missed 
a  beat  and  struck  him  in  the  ribs,  and  Milton, 
looking  up,  caught  sight  of  the  glaring,  demoniacal 
Lusthaus. 

The  composition  was  one  of  Professor  Lusthaus's 
own  and  had  been  especially  devised  forgrand  marches 
to  supper.  In  rhythm  and  melody  it  was  exceed 
ingly  conventional,  not  to  say  reminiscent,  and  when 


156       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Milton  seized  his  bow  with  the  energy  of  despair 
and  drew  it  sharply  across  the  strings  of  the  contra 
basso  there  was  introduced  a  melodic  and  harmonic 
element  so  totally  at  variance  with  the  character  of 
the  composition  as  to  outrage  the  ears  of  even  Ferdy 
Rothman.  For  one  fatal  moment  he  turned  his  head, 
as  did  his  six  aids,  and  at  once  the  grand  march  to 
supper  became  a  hopeless  tangle.  Simultaneously 
Milton  saw  that  in  five  minutes  he  would  be  pro 
pelled  violently  to  the  street  at  the  head  of  a  flying 
wedge,  and  he  sawed  away  with  a  grim  smile  on 
his  face.  Groans  like  the  ultimate  sighs  of  a  dying 
elephant  came  from  underneath  his  bow,  while  oc 
casionally  he  surprised  himself  with  a  weird  harmonic. 
At  length  Professor  Lusthaus  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  He  threw  his  baton  at  Milton  and  followed 
it  up  with  his  violin  case,  at  which  Milton  deemed 
it  time  to  retreat.  He  grabbed  his  hat  and  overcoat 
and  dashed  wildly  through  the  ranks  of  the  thirty- 
nine  performers  toward  the  front  of  the  platform. 
Thence  he  leaped  to  the  ballroom  floor,  and  two 
minutes  later  he  was  safely  on  the  sidewalk  with 
nothing  to  hinder  his  exit  save  a  glancing  kick  from 
Ferdy  Rothman. 

It  was  precisely  eleven  o'clock,  the  very  shank  of 
the  evening,  and  Milton  fairly  shuddered  at  the  idea 
of  going  home,  but  what  was  he  to  do?  His  credit 
at  all  of  the  pool  parlours  had  been  strained  to  the 
utmost  and  he  was  absolutely  penniless.  For  two 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  157 

minutes  he  surveyed  the  empty  street  and,  with  a 
stretch  and  a  yawn,  he  started  off  home. 

Ten  minutes  later  Mrs.  Zwiebel  recognized  with 
a  leaping  heart  his  footsteps  on  the  areaway.  She 
ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"Loafer!"  she  cried.     "Where  was  you?" 

"Aw,  what's  the  matter  now?"  Milton  asked  as  he 
kissed  her  perfunctorily.  "It's  only  just  eleven 
o'clock." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Mrs.  Zwiebel  said.  "What  you 
come  home  so  early  for  ? " 

Again  Milton  yawned  and  stretched. 

"I  was  to  a  racket  what  the  I.  O.  M.  A.'s  run  off," 
he  said. 

He  rubbed  the  dust  from  his  trouser  leg  where 
Ferdy  Rothman's  kick  had  soiled  it. 

"Things  was  getting  pretty  slow,"  he  concluded, 
"so  I  put  on  my  hat  and  come  home." 

Breakfast  at  the  Zwiebels'  was  a  solemn  feast. 
Mr.  Zwiebel  usually  drank  his  coffee  in  silence,  or  in 
as  much  silence  as  was  compatible  with  an  operation 
which,  with  Mr.  Zwiebel,  involved  screening  the 
coffee  through  his  moustache.  It  emerged  all  drip 
ping  from  the  coffee,  and  Mr.  Zwiebel  was  accus 
tomed  to  cleansing  it  with  his  lower  lip  and  polishing 
it  off  with  his  table  napkin.  Eggs  and  toast  followed, 
and,  unless  Mrs.  Zwiebel  was  especially  vigilant,  her 
husband  went  downtown  with  fragments  of  the  yolks 


158        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

clinging  to  his  eyebrows,  for  Mr.  Zwiebel  was  a 
hearty  eater  and  no  great  stickler  for  table  manners. 

To  Milton,  whose  table  manners  were  both  easy 
and  correct,  the  primitive  methods  of  his  father  were 
irritating. 

"Get  a  sponge!"  he  exclaimed  on  the  morning 
after  his  orchestral  experience,  as  Mr.  Zwiebel  ab 
sorbed  his  coffee  in  long,  gurgling  inhalations. 

"Yes,  Milton,"  Mr.  Zwiebel  commented,  replac 
ing  his  cup  in  the  saucer,  "maybe  I  ain't  such  a  fine 
gentleman  what  you  are,  but  I  ain't  no  loafer,  neither, 
y'understand.  When  I  was  your  age  I  didn't  sit 
down  and  eat  my  breakfast  at  nine  o'clock.  I  didn't 
have  it  so  easy." 

"Aw,  what  yer  kicking  about?"  Milton  replied. 
"You  don't  let  me  do  nothing  down  at  the  store, 
anyway.  All  I  got  to  do  is  sit  around.  Why 
don't  you  send  me  out  on  the  road  and  give  me  a 
show?" 

"A  show  I  would  give  you,"  Zwiebel  cried.  "You 
mean  a  picnic,  not  a  show.  No,  Milton,  I  got  some 
pretty  good  customers  already,  but  I  wouldn't  take 
no  such  liberties  with  'em  as  sending  out  a  lowlife 
like  you  to  sell  'em  goods." 

"All  right,"  Milton  said,  and  relapsed  into  a  sulky 
silence. 

"Lookyhere,  Milton,"  Zwiebel  commenced.  "If 
I  thought  you  was  really  willing  to  work,  y'under- 
stand,  I  would  get  you  a  good  job.  But  with  a  feller 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  159 

what's  all  the  time  fooling  away  his  time,  what's  the 
use?" 

"Maybe  the  boy  would  behave  himself  this  time, 
popper,"  Mrs.  Zwiebel  interceded.  "Maybe  he 
would  attend  to  business  this  time,  popper.  Ain't 
it?" 

"Business!"  Mr.  Zwiebel  exclaimed.  "Business 
is  something  what  the  boy  ain't  got  in  him  at  all. 
Honest,  mommer,  I  got  to  sit  down  sometimes  and 
ask  myself  what  did  I  done  that  I  should  have  such  a 
boy.  He  wouldn't  work;  he  wouldn't  do  nothing. 
Just  a  common,  low-life  bum,  what  you  see  hanging 
around  street  corners.  If  I  was  a  young  feller 
like  that,  Milton,  I  would  be  ashamed  to  show 
myself." 

"Aw,  cut  it  out!"  Milton  replied. 

"Yes,  mommer,  if  I  would  get  that  boy  a  good  job, 
y'understand,"  Mr.  Zwiebel  went  on,  "he  would 
turn  right  around  and  do  something,  y'understand, 
what  would  make  me  like  I  could  never  show  myself 
again  in  the  place  where  he  worked." 

"Aw,  what  are  you  beefing  about  now?"  Milton 
broke  in.  "You  never  got  me  a  decent  job  yet.  All 
the  places  where  I  worked  was  piker  concerns.  Why 
don't  you  get  me  a  real  job  where  I  could  sell  some 
goods?" 

"Talk  is  cheap,  Milton,"  said  Mr.  Zwiebel.  "But 
if  I  thought  you  meant  it  what  you  said  I  would  take 
up  an  offer  what  I  got  it  yesterday  from  Levy  Roth- 


160       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

man,  of  Levy  Rothman  &  Co.  He  wants  a  young 
feller  what  he  could  bring  up  in  the  business,  mom- 
mer,  and  make  it  a  salesman  out  of  him.  But  what's 
the  use?" 

"  Maybe  if  you  would  take  Milton  down  there  and 
let  Mr.  Rothman  see  him,"  Mrs.  Zwiebel  suggested, 
"maybe  the  boy  would  like  the  place." 

"No,  sir,"  Mr.  Zwiebel  declared,  "I  wouldn't  do 
it.  I  positively  wouldn't  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

He  glanced  anxiously  at  his  son  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye,  but  Milton  gave  no  sign. 

"  Why  should  I  do  it  ?"  he  went  on.  "  Levy  Roth 
man  is  a  good  customer  of  mine  and  he  wants  to 
pay  a  young  feller  fifteen  dollars  a  week  to  start. 
Naturally,  he  expects  he  should  get  a  hard-working 
feller  for  the  money." 

He  felt  sure  that  the  fifteen  dollars  a  week  would 
provoke  some  show  of  interest,  and  he  was  not  mis 
taken. 

"Well,  I  can  work  as  hard  as  the  next  one,"  Mil 
ton  cried.  "Why  don't  you  take  me  down  there  and 
give  me  a  show  to  get  the  job  ? " 

Mr.  Zwiebel  looked  at  his  wife  with  an  elaborate 
assumption  of  doubtfulness. 

"What  could  I  say  to  a  young  feller  like  that, 
mommer?"  he  said.  "Mind  you,  I  want  to  help 
him  out.  I  want  to  make  a  man  of  him,  mommer, 
but  all  the  time  I  know  how  it  would  turn  out." 

"How  could  you  talk  that  way,  popper?"  Mrs. 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  161 

Zwiebel  pleaded.  "The  boy  says  he  would  do  his 
best.  Let  him  have  a  chance,  popper." 

"All  right,"  he  said  heartily;  "for  your  sake,  mom- 
mer,  I  will  do  it.  Milton,  lieben,  put  on  your  coat 
and  hat  and  we  will  go  right  down  to  Rothman's 
place." 

When  Mr.  Zwiebel  and  Milton  entered  the  sample- 
room  of  Levy  Rothman  &  Co.,  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  later,  Mr.  Rothman  was  scanning  the  Arrival 
of  Buyers  column  in  the  morning  paper. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Rothman,"  Zwiebel  cried,  "ain't  it  a 
fine  weather?" 

"I  bet  yer  it's  a  fine  weather,"  Rothman  agreed, 
"for  cancellations.  We  ain't  never  had  such  a  warm 
November  in  years  ago  already." 

"This  is  my  boy  Milton,  Mr.  Rothman,  what  I 
was  talking  to  you  about,"  Zwiebel  continued. 

"Yes ? "  Mr.  Rothman  said.  "All  right.  Let  him 
take  down  his  coat  and  he'll  find  a  feather  duster 
in  the  corner  by  them  misses'  reefers.  I  never  see 
nothing  like  the  way  the  dust  gets  in  here/' 

Mr.  Zwiebel  fairly  beamed.  This  was  a  splendid 
beginning. 

"Go  ahead,  Milton,"  he  said;  "take  down  your 
coat  and  get  to  work." 

But  Milton  showed  no  undue  haste. 

"Lookyhere,  pop,"  he  said.  "I  thought  I  was 
coming  down  here  to  sell  goods." 

"Sell  goods!"  Rothman  exclaimed.     "Why,  you 


162        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

was  never  in  the  cloak  and  suit  business  before. 
Ain't  it?" 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Milton  replied,  "but  I  can  sell 
goods  all  right." 

"Not  here,  you  couldn't,"  Rothman  said.  "Here, 
before  a  feller  sells  goods,  he's  got  to  learn  the  line, 
y'understand,  and  there  ain't  no  better  way  to  learn 
the  line,  y'understand,  than  by  dusting  it  off." 

Milton  put  his  hat  on  and  jammed  it  down  with 
both  hands. 

"Then  that  settles  it,"  he  declared. 

"What  settles  it?"  Rothman  and  Zwiebel  asked 
with  one  voice;  but  before  Milton  could  answer  the 
sample-room  door  opened  and  a  young  woman  en 
tered.  From  out  the  coils  of  her  blue-black  hair  an 
indelible  lead  pencil  projected  at  a  jaunty  angle. 

"Mr.  Rothman,"  she  said,  "Oppenheimer  ain't 
credited  us  with  that  piece  of  red  velour  we  returned 
him  on  the  twentieth,  and  he's  charged  us  up  twice 
with  the  same  item." 

"That's  a  fine  crook  for  you,"  Rothman  cried. 
"Write  him  he  should  positively  rectify  all  mistakes 
before  we  would  send  him  a  check.  That  feller's 
got  a  nerve  like  a  horse,  Mr.  Zwiebel.  He  wants 
me  I  should  pay  him  net  thirty  days,  and  he  never 
sends  us  a  single  statement  correct.  Anything  else, 
Miss  Levy?" 

"That's  all,  Mr.  Rothman,"  she  replied  as  she 
turned  away. 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  163 

Milton  watched  her  as  she  closed  the  door  behind 
her,  and  then  he  threw  down  his  hat  and  peeled  off 
his  coat. 

"Gimme  the  feather  duster/'  he  said. 

For  two  hours  Milton  wielded  the  feather  broom, 
then  Mr.  Rothman  went  out  to  lunch,  and  as  a  reflex 
Milton  sank  down  in  the  nearest  chair.  He  opened 
the  morning  paper  and  buried  himself  in  the  past 
performances. 

"Milton,"  a  voice  cried  sharply,  "ain't  you  got 
something  to  do  ? " 

He  looked  up  and  descried  Miss  Levy  herself  stand 
ing  over  him. 

"Naw,"  he  said,  "I  finished  the  dusting." 

Miss  Levy  took  the  paper  gently  but  firmly  from 
his  hands. 

"You  come  with  me,"  she  said. 

He  followed  her  to  the  office,  where  the  monthly 
statements  were  ready  for  mailing. 

"Put  the  statements  in  those  envelopes/' she  said, 
"and  seal  them  up." 

Milton  sat  down  meekly  on  a  high  stool  and  piled 
up  the  envelopes  in  front  of  him. 

"Ain't  you  got  any  sponge  for  to  wet  these  en 
velopes  on?"  he  asked. 

Miss  Levy  favoured  him  with  a  cutting  glance. 

"Ain't  you  delicate!"  she  said.  "Use  your 
tongue." 


164       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

For  five  minutes  Milton  folded  and  licked  and 
then  he  hazarded  a  conversational  remark: 

"You  like  to  dance  pretty  well,  don't  you?"  he 
said. 

"When  I've  got  business  to  attend  to,"  Miss  Levy 
replied  frigidly,  "I  don't  like  anything." 

"But  I  mean  I  seen  you  at  the  I.  O.  M.  A.'s  racket 
last  night,"  Milton  continued,  "and  you  seemed  to  be 
having  a  pretty  good  time." 

Miss  Levy  suppressed  a  yawn. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  she  said;  "I  feel  like  a  rag 
to-day.  I  didn't  get  home  till  four  o'clock." 

This  was  something  like  friendly  discourse,  and 
Milton  slackened  up  on  his  work. 

"Who  was  that  feller  with  the  curly  hair  you  was 
dancing  with?"  he  began,  when  Miss  Levy  looked 
up  and  noted  the  cessation  of  his  labour. 

"Never  you  mind  who  he  was,  Milton,"  she  an 
swered.  "You  finish  licking  those  envelopes." 

At  this  juncture  they  heard  the  sample-room  door 
open  and  a  heavy  footstep  sound  on  its  carpeted  floor. 

"Wait  here,"  she  hissed.  "It's  a  customer,  and 
everybody's  out  to  lunch.  What's  your  other  name, 
Milton?" 

"Milton  Zwiebel,"  he  replied. 

Hastily  she  adjusted  her  pompadour  and  tripped 
off  to  the  sample-room. 

"Ain't  none  of  them  actors  around  here  to-day, 
Miss  Levy?"  a  bass  voice  asked 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  165 

"They're  all  out  to  lunch,"  Miss  Levy  explained. 

"Where's  Pasinsky ?"  the  visitor  asked. 

"Mr.  Pasinsky's  in  Boston  this  week,  Mr.  Feigen- 
baum,"  she  replied. 

Pasinsky  was  Rothman's  senior  drummer  and  was 
generally  acknowledged  a  cracker  jack. 

"That's  too  bad,"  Feigenbaum  replied.  "Ain't 
Rothman  coming  back  soon  ? " 

"Not  for  half  an  hour,"  Miss  Levy  answered. 

"Well,  I  ain't  got  so  long  to  wait,"  Feigenbaum 
commented. 

Suddenly  Miss  Levy  brightened  up. 

"Mr.  Zwiebel  is  in,"  she  announced.  "Maybe  he 
would  do." 

" Mr.  Zwiebel  ? "  Feigenbaum  repeated.  "All  right, 
Zwiebel  oder  Knoblauch,  it  don't  make  no  difference 
to  me.  I  want  to  look  at  some  of  them  misses' 
reefers." 

"Mis-ter  Zwiebel,"  Miss  Levy  called,  and  in  re 
sponse  Milton  entered. 

"This  is  one  of  our  customers,  Mr.  Zwiebel,"  she 
said,  "by  the  name  Mr.  Henry  Feigenbaum." 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Feigenbaum?"  Milton  said 
with  perfect  self-possession.  "What  can  I  do  for  you 
to-day?" 

He  dug  out  one  of  Charles  Zwiebel's  Havana 
seconds  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  handed  it  to 
Feigenbaum. 

"It  looks  pretty  rough,"  he  said,  "but  you'll  find  it 


1 66        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

all  0.  K.,  clear  Havana,  wrapper,  binder,  and 
filler." 

"Much  obliged,"  Feigenbaum  said.  "I  want  to 
look  at  some  of  them  misses'  reefers." 

Miss  Levy  winked  one  eye  with  electrical  rapidity 
and  gracefully  placed  her  hand  on  the  proper  rack, 
whereat  Milton  strode  over  and  seized  the  garment. 

"Try  it  on  me,"  Miss  Levy  said,  extending  her 
arm.  "It's  just  my  size." 

"You  couldn't  wear  no  misses'  reefer,"  Feigen 
baum  said  ungallantly.  "You  ain't  so  young  no 
longer." 

Milton  scowled,  but  Miss  Levy  passed  it  off  pleas 
antly. 

"You  wouldn't  want  to  pay  for  all  the  garments  in 
misses'  sizes  that  fit  me,  Mr.  Feigenbaum,"  she 
retorted  as  she  struggled  into  the  coat.  "My  sis 
ter  bought  one  just  like  this  up  on  Thirty-fourth 
Street,  and  maybe  they  didn't  charge  her  anything, 
neither.  Why,  Mr.  Feigenbaum,  she  had  to  pay 
twenty-two  fifty  for  the  precisely  same  garment,  and 
I  could  have  got  her  the  same  thing  here  for  ten 
dollars,  only  Mr.  Rothman  wouldn't  positively  sell 
any  goods  at  retail  even  to  his  work-people." 

Mr.  Feigenbaum  examined  the  garment  closely 
while  Miss  Levy  postured  in  front  of  him. 

"And  maybe  you  think  the  design  and  workman 
ship  was  better?"  she  went  on.  "Why,  Mr.  Feigen 
baum,  my  sister  had  to  sew  on  every  one  of  the 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  167 

buttons,  and  the  side  seams  came  unripped  the  first 
week  she  wore  it.  You  could  take  this  garment  and 
stretch  it  as  hard  as  you  could  with  both  hands,  and 
nothing  would  tear." 

Milton  nodded  approvingly,  and  then  Miss  Levy 
peeled  off  the  coat  and  handed  it  to  Feigenbaum. 

"Look  at  it  yourself,"  she  said;  "it's  a  first-class 
garment." 

She  nudged  Milton. 

"Dummy!"  she  hissed,  "say  something." 

"Sammet  Brothers  sell  the  same  garment  for 
twelve-fifty,"  Milton  hazarded.  Sammet  Brothers 
were  customers  of  the  elder  Zwiebel,  and  Milton 
happened  to  remember  the  name. 

Feigenbaum  looked  up  and  frowned. 

"With  me  I  ain't  stuck  on  a  feller  what  knocks  a 
competitor's  line,"  he  said.  "Sell  your  goods  on 
their  merits,  young  feller,  and  your  customers  would 
never  kick.  This  garment  looks  pretty  good  to  me 
already,  Mr.  Zwiebel,  so  if  you  got  an  order  blank  I'll 
give  it  you  the  particulars." 

Miss  Levy  hastened  to  the  office  and  returned  with 
some  order  blanks  which  she  handed  to  Milton. 
Then  she  retreated  behind  a  cloak-rack  while  Milton 
wielded  a  lead  pencil  in  a  businesslike  fashion.  There 
she  listened  to  Feigenbaum's  dictation  and,  unseen 
by  him,  she  carefully  wrote  down  his  order. 

At  length  Feigenbaum  concluded,  and  Miss  Levy 
hastened  from  behind  the  rack. 


1 68        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Oh,  Mr.  Feigenbaum,"  she  said  in  order  to  create 
a  diversion,  "wasn't  it  you  that  wrote  us  about  a 
tourist  coat  getting  into  your  last  shipment  by  mis 
take?" 

"Me?"  Feigenbaum  cried.  "Why,  I  ain't  said  no 
such  thing." 

"I  thought  you  were  the  one,"  she  replied  as  she 
slipped  her  transcription  of  Mr.  Feigenbaum's  order 
into  Milton's  hand.  "It  must  have  been  somebody 
else." 

"I  guess  it  must,"  Feigenbaum  commented.  "Let 
me  see  what  you  got  there,  young  feller." 

Milton  handed  him  Miss  Levy's  copy  of  the  order 
and  Feigenbaum  read  it  with  knit  brows. 

"Everything's  all  right,"  he  said  as  he  returned 
the  order  to  Milton. 

He  put  on  his  hat  preparatory  to  leaving. 

"All  I  got  to  say  is,"  he  went  on,  "that  if  you  was 
as  good  a  salesman  like  you  was  a  writer,  young 
feller,  you'd  be  making  more  money  for  yourself  and 
for  Mr.  Rothman." 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him  and  Miss  Levy 
turned  to  Milton. 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  the  limit!"  she  said,  and  walked 
slowly  into  her  office. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Milton  moped  about  with 
the  feather  duster  in  his  hand  until  Rothman  came 
back. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Milton  ? "  he  said.    "  Couldn't 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  169 

you  find  nothing  better  to  do  as  dust  them  garments 
all  day?  Why,  if  them  garments  would  of  been 
standing  on  the  sidewalk  already,  they  would  be 
clean  by  now.  Couldn't  you  help  Miss  Levy  a 
little?" 

"He  did  help  me,"  Miss  Levy  cried  from  the  door 
way.  "And,  oh,  Mr.  Rothman,  what  do  you  think? 
Milton  sold  a  big  bill  of  goods  to  Henry  Feigenbaum." 

Ferdinand  Rothman  divided  his  time  between  a 
downtown  law  school  and  the  office  of  Henry  D.  Feld- 
man,  in  which  he  was  serving  his  clerkship  prepara 
tory  to  his  admission  to  the  bar.  He  was  a  close 
student  not  only  of  the  law  but  of  the  manner  and 
methods  of  his  employer,  and  he  reflected  so  success 
fully  Mr.  Feldman's  pompous  address  that  casual 
acquaintances  repressed  with  difficulty  an  impulse  to 
kick  him  on  the  spot.  His  hair  was  curly  and  brushed 
back  in  the  prevailing  mode,  and  he  wore  eyeglasses 
mounted  in  tortoise-shell  with  a  pendent  black  ribbon, 
albeit  his  eyesight  was  excellent. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Levy,"  he  said  patronizingly, 
when  he  entered  her  office  late  in  the  afternoon  of 
Milton's  hiring.  "How  d'ye  feel  after  the  dance  last 
night?" 

"Pretty  good,"  Miss  Levy  replied  through  a  pen 
which  she  held  between  her  teeth.  "  Milton,  tell  Mr. 
Rothman  not  to  go  home  till  he  talks  to  me  about  Mr. 
Pasinsky's  mail." 


170       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Milton  hurried  out  of  the  office,  while  Ferdy  Roth- 
man  stared  after  him. 

"Who's  he?  "Ferdy  asked. 

"He  come  to  work  to-day,"  Miss  Levy  replied, 
"  and  he's  going  to  be  all  right,  too." 

Ferdy  smiled  contemptuously.  He  was  accus 
tomed,  on  his  way  uptown,  to  stopping  in  at  his 
father's  place  of  business,  ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of 
accompanying  his  father  home.  Other  and  more 
cogent  reasons  were  the  eyes,  the  blue-black  hair,  and 
the  trim  little  figure  of  Miss  Clara  Levy. 

"And  what's  he  supposed  to  be  doing  around  here?" 
Ferdy  continued. 

"He's  supposed  to  be  learning  the  business,"  Miss 
Levy  answered,  "  and  he  ain't  lost  much  time,  either. 
He  sold  Henry  Feigenbaum  a  bill  of  goods.  You 
know  Henry  Feigenbaum.  He's  only  got  one  eye, 
and  he  thinks  everybody  is  trying  to  do  him." 

Here  Milton  Zwiebel  returned. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said;  "Mr.  Rothman  will  see 
you  before  he  goes." 

Ferdy  Rothman  lolled  back  in  a  chair,  with  one 
arm  thrown  over  the  top  rail  after  the  fashion  of 
Henry  D.  Feldman's  imitation  of  Judge  Blatchford's 
portrait  in  the  United  States  District  Courtroom. 

"Well,  young  man,"  he  said  in  pompous  accents, 
"how  go  the  busy  marts  of  trade  these  days?" 

Milton  surveyed  him  in  scornful  amazement. 

"Hire  a  hall!"  he  said,  and  returned  to  the  sample- 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  171 

room.  It  lacked  half  an  hour  of  closing  time,  and 
during  that  period  Milton  avoided  Miss  Levy's  office. 

At  length  Ferdinand  Rothman  and  his  father  went 
home,  and  Milton  once  more  approached  Miss  Levy. 

"Say,  Miss  Levy,"  he  said,  "who's  that  curly- 
haired  young  feller?  Ain't  he  the  one  I  seen  you 
dancing  with  last  night  ? " 

"Sure  he  is,"  Miss  Levy  replied. 

"I  thought  he  was,"  Milton  commented.  "And 
wasn't  he  one  of  them — now — floor  managers?" 

"Ain't  you  nosy?"  Miss  Levy  answered  as  she 
swept  all  the  torn  paper  on  her  desk  into  her  apron. 

"Well,  wasn't  he?"  Milton  insisted. 

"Suppose  he  was?"  she  retorted.  "All  you've  got 
to  do  is  to  mail  these  letters  and  be  sure  to  get  down 
at  half-past  seven  sharp  to-morrow  morning." 

"Do  you  get  here  at  half-past  seven?"  he  asked. 

"I  certainly  do,"  Miss  Levy  replied. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  as  he  gathered  up  the  mail, 
"I'll  be  here." 

Thus  began  the  regeneration  of  Milton  Zwiebel, 
for  he  soon  perceived  that  to  Miss  Clara  Levy  a  box  of 
candy  was  not  nearly  so  acceptable  a  token  of  his 
esteem  as  was  a  cheerful  dusting  of  the  sample  stock. 
Moreover,  he  discovered  that  it  pleased  Miss  Levy  to 
hear  him  talk  intelligently  of  the  style-numbers  and 
their  prices,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  became  as 
familiar  with  his  employer's  line  as  was  Miss  Levy 
herself.  As  for  his  punctuality,  it  soon  became  a 


172        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

habit,  and  every  morning  at  half-past  six  he  ate  a 
hurried  breakfast  and  left  the  house  long  before  the 
elder  Zwiebel  had  concluded  his  toilet. 

"  I  couldn't  understand  it,  mommer,"  said  Mr.  Zwie 
bel,  after  Milton  had  completed  the  sixth  month  of  his 
employment  with  Levy  Rothman.  "That  boy  goes 
downtown  every  morning,  mommer,  before  daylight 
practically,  y'understand.  He  don't  get  home  till 
half-past  seven,  and  he  stays  home  pretty  near  every 
night,  mommer,  and  that  feller  Rothman  kicks  yet. 
Always  he  tells  me  the  boy  ain't  worth  a  pinch  of 
snuff  and  he  wants  I  shouldn't  charge  him  no  interest 
on  that  five  thousand." 

"That's  something  I  couldn't  understand, neither," 
Mrs.  Zwiebel  replied.  "I  ask  Milton  always  how  he 
gets  along,  and  he  tells  me  he  is  doing  fine." 

"The  boy  tells  me  the  same  thing,"  Zwiebel  con 
tinued,  "and  yet  that  young  feller,  Ferdy  Rothman, 
comes  up  to  see  me  about  getting  a  check  for  Milton's 
wages,  and  he  says  to  me  the  boy  acts  like  a  regular 
lowlife." 

"Why  don't  you  speak  to  Milton?"  Mrs.  Zwiebel 
broke  in. 

"I  did  speak  to  him,  mommer,"  Zwiebel  declared, 
"and  the  boy  looks  at  me  so  surprised  that  I  couldn't 
say  nothing.  Also,  I  speaks  to  this  here  Ferdy 
Rothman,  mommer,  and  he  says  that  the  boy  acts 
something  terrible.  He  says  that  Rothman's  got  a 
bookkeeper,  y'understand,  a  decent,  respectable  young 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  173 

woman,  and  that  Milton  makes  that  girl's  life  miser 
able  the  way  he's  all  the  time  talking  to  her  and 
making  jokes.  Such  a  loafer  what  that  boy  is  I 
couldn't  understand  at  all." 

He  sighed  heavily  and  went  downtown  to  his  place 
of  business.  On  the  subway  he  opened  wide  the 
Tobacco  Trade  Journal,  thrust  his  legs  forward  into 
the  aisle,  and  grew  oblivious  to  his  surroundings  in 
perusing  the  latest  quotations  of  leaf  tobacco. 

"Why  don't  you  hire  it  a  special  car?"  a  bass  voice 
cried  as  its  owner  stumbled  over  Zwiebel's  feet. 

"Excuse  me,"  Zwiebel  exclaimed,  looking  up. 
"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Feigenbaum.  I  didn't  see  you 
coming." 

"Oh,  hello  there,  Zwiebel!"  Feigenbaum  cried, 
extending  two  fingers  and  sinking  into  the  adjacent 
seat.  "How's  the  rope  business?" 

"I  ain't  in  the  rope  business,  Mr.  Feigenbaum/* 
Zwiebel  said  coldly. 

"Ain't  you?"  Feigenbaum  replied.  "I  thought 
you  was.  I  see  your  boy  every  oncet  in  a  while  down 
at  Rothman's,  and  he  hands  me  out  a  piece  of  rope 
which  he  gets  from  your  place,  Zwiebel.  I  take  it 
from  him  to  please  him." 

"You  shouldn't  do  him  no  favours,  Feigenbaum," 
Zwiebel  cried.  "That  rope,  as  you  call  it,  stands  me 
in  seventy  dollars  a  thousand,  and  the  way  that  boy 
helps  himself,  y'understand,  you  might  think  it  was 
waste  paper." 


174       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"  Sure,  I  know,"  Feigenbaum  answered.  "  I  thought 
so,  too,  when  I  smoked  it.  But,  anyhow,  Zwiebel, 
I  must  say  that  boy  of  yours  is  all  right." 

"What!"  Zwiebel  cried. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Feigenbaum  went  on,  "that  boy  has 
improved  something  wonderful.  And  certainly  they 
think  a  great  deal  of  him  down  there.  Rothman 
himself  told  me  that  boy  will  make  his  mark  some 
day,  and  you  know  what  I  think,  Zwiebel?  I  think 
the  whole  thing  is  due  to  that  young  lady  they  got 
down  there,  that  Miss  Levy.  That  girl  has  got  a 
headpiece,  y'understand,  and  certainly  she  took  an 
interest  in  your  boy.  She  taught  him  all  he  knows, 
Zwiebel,  and  while  I  don't  want  to  say  nothing  about 
it,  y'understand,  I  must  got  to  say  that  that  young 
feller  thinks  a  whole  lot  of  Miss  Levy,  and  certainly  I 
think  that  Miss  Levy  somewhat  reciprocates  him." 

"  Reciprocates  him ? "  Zwiebel  said.  "That's  where 
you  make  a  big  mistake,  Mr.  Feigenbaum.  They 
don't  reciprocate  him;  they  reciprocate  me,  y'under- 
stand.  Fifteen  dollars  every  week  they  reciprocate 
me  for  that  boy's  wages,  and  also  a  whole  lot  more, 


too." 


"You  don't  understand  me,"  Feigenbaum  declared. 
"I  mean  that  Miss  Levy  seems  to  think  a  good  deal  of 
Milton,  and  maybe  you  don't  think  Ferdy  Rothman 
is  jealous  from  them,  too?  That  feller  could  kill 
your  boy,  Zwiebel,  and  he  done  his  best  to  get  Roth 
man  to  fire  him.  I  know  it  for  a  fact,  because  I  was 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  175 

in  there  as  late  as  yesterday  afternoon  and  I  heard 
that  young  feller  tell  Rothman  that  Milton  is  too  fresh 
and  he  should  fire  him." 

"And  what  did  Rothman  say?"  Zwiebel  asked. 

"Rothman  says  that  Ferdy  should  shut  up  his 
mouth,  that  Milton  was  a  good  boy  and  that  Roth 
man  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  Ferdy,  and  I 
knew  it,  too,  Zwiebel.  That  boy  is  jealous.  Also, 
Rothman  says  something  else,  what  I  couldn't  under 
stand  exactly." 

"What  was  it?" 

"He  asks  Ferdy  if  he  could  pick  up  in  the  street 
five  thousand  dollars  at  savings-bank  interest." 

:"S  enough!"  Zwiebel  cried.  "I  heard  enough, 
Feigenbaum.  Just  wait  till  I  see  that  feller  Rothman, 
that's  all." 

When  the  train  drew  up  at  the  Fourteenth  Street 
station  Zwiebel  plunged  through  the  crowd  without 
waiting  for  Feigenbaum  and  stalked  indignantly  to 
his  place  of  business.  When  he  entered  his  private 
office  he  found  a  visitor  waiting  for  him.  It  was 
Ferdy  Rothman. 

"Ah,  good-morning,  Mr.  Zwiebel,"  Ferdy  cried, 
extending  his  hand  in  a  patronizing  imitation  of 
Henry  D.  Feldman.  "Glad  to  see  you." 

Zwiebel  evaded  Ferdy's  proffered  hand  and  sat 
down  at  his  desk  without  removing  his  hat. 

"Well,"  he  growled,  "what  d'ye  want?" 


176        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"I  wanted  to  see  you  about  something  personal," 
Ferdy  went  on. 

"Go  ahead,"  Zwiebel  cried;  "you  tell  me  some 
thing  personal  first  and  I'll  tell  you  something  personal 
afterward  what  you  and  your  old  man  wouldn't  like 
at  all." 

"Well,"  Ferdy  continued,  "I  came  to  see  you 
about  Milton.  There's  a  young  man,  Mr.  Zwiebel, 
that  is  a  credit  to  you  in  every  way,  and  I  can't  help 
thinking  that  he's  wasting  his  time  and  his  talents  in 
my  father's  place  of  business." 

" He  is,  hey  ? "  said  Zwiebel.  "Well,  he  ain't  wast 
ing  none  of  your  old  man's  time,  Rothman,  and  he 
ain't  wasting  none  of  his  money,  neither." 

"That's  just  the  point,"  Ferdy  went  on.  "I  can't 
stand  by  and  see  you  wronged  any  longer.  Not  only 
is  my  father  getting  the  service  of  a  more  than  com 
petent  salesman  for  nothing,  but  he's  having  the  use 
of  your  five  thousand  dollars  as  well.  Disgraceful, 
that's  what  I  call  it." 

Zwiebel  gazed  at  him  earnestly  for  a  minute. 

"Say,  lookyhere,  Rothman,"  he  said  at  length, 
"what  monkey  business  are  you  trying  to  do?" 

"I'm  not  trying  to  do  any  monkey  business  at  all," 
Ferdy  cried  with  a  great  show  of  righteous  indigna 
tion.  "I'm  doing  this  because  I  feel  that  it's  the  only 
proper  thing.  What  you  want  to  do  now  is  to  take 
Milton  out  of  the  old  man's  place  and  find  him  a  job 
with  some  other  cloak  and  suit  concern.  That  boy 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  177 

could  command  his  twenty-five  a  week  anywhere. 
Then,  of  course,  the  old  man  would  have  to  cough 
up  the  five  thousand." 

Zwiebel  nodded  his  head  slowly. 

"You're  a  pretty  good  son,  Rothman,"  he  com 
mented,  "I  must  say.  But,  anyhow,  you  ain't  very 
previous  with  your  advice,  because  I  made  up  my 
mind  this  morning  already  that  that's  what  I  would 
do,  anyhow." 

He  lit  a  cigar  and  puffed  deliberately. 

"And  now,  Rothman,"  he  said,  "if  you  would  ex 
cuse  me,  I  got  business  to  attend  to." 

"Just  one  word  more,"  Ferdy  cried.  "My  father 
has  got  a  girl  working  for  him  by  the  name  of  Levy, 
and  I  think  if  you  knew  what  kind  of  girl  she  is,  you 
wouldn't  want  Milton  to  go  with  her  any  more." 

Zwiebel  rose  from  his  chair  and  his  eyes  blazed. 

"You  dirty  dawg!"  he  roared.  "Out — out  from 
my  place!" 

He  grabbed  the  collar  of  Ferdy's  coat  together  with 
a  handful  of  his  curly  hair,  and  with  a  well-directed 
kick  he  propelled  the  budding  advocate  through  the 
office  doorway.  After  a  minute  Ferdy  picked  him 
self  up  and  ran  to  the  stairway.  There  he  paused 
and  shook  his  fist  at  Zwiebel. 

"I'll  make  you  sweat  for  this!"  he  bellowed. 

Zwiebel  laughed  raucously. 

"Say  something  more  about  that  young  lady,"  he 
cried,  "and  I'll  kick  you  to  the  subway  yet." 


178        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

It  was  nearly  half-past  twelve  when  Charles  Zwie 
bel  entered  the  sample-room  of  Levy  Rothman  & 
Co.,  on  Eighteenth  Street.  He  descried  Milton  in 
his  shirt  sleeves  extolling  the  merits  of  one  of  Roth- 
man's  stickers  to  a  doubtful  customer  from  Bradford 
County,  Pennsylvania. 

"Hello,  pop!"  Milton  cried.  "Too  busy  to  talk 
to  you  now.  Take  a  seat." 

"Where's  Rothman ? "  Zwiebel  asked. 

"Out  to  lunch,"  Milton  replied.     "I'll  be  through 


in  a  minute." 


Zwiebel  watched  his  son  in  silence  until  the  sale 
was  consummated,  and  after  Milton  had  shaken 
the  departing  customer's  hand  he  turned  to  his 
father. 

"Well,  pop,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  first  time  you've 
been  up  here  since  I've  been  here,  ain't  it?" 

Zwiebel  nodded. 

"I  wish  I  would  of  come  up  here  before,"  he  said. 
"Say,  Milton,  who  is  this  here  Miss  Levy  what  works 
here?" 

Milton  blushed. 

"She's  in  the  office,"  he  murmured.  "Why,  what 
do  you  want  to  know  for  ? " 

"Well,  I  met  Henry  Feigenbaum  in  the  car  this 
morning,"  Zwiebel  went  on,  "and  he  was  telling  me 
about  her.  He  says  she  comes  from  a  family  what 
him  and  me  knows  in  the  old  country.  The  father 
drove  a  truck  already." 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  179 

"That's  where  you  make  a  big  mistake,"  Milton 
cried  indignantly.  "Her  father's  in  the  real-estate 
business  and  pretty  well  fixed  at  that." 

Mr.  Zwiebel  smiled. 

"That  must  be  Simon  Levy,  the  feller  what  owns 
a  couple  houses  with  that  shark  Henochstein.  Ain't 
it?"  he  hazarded. 

"Her  father  ain't  in  partnership  with  nobody," 
Milton  rejoined.  "His  name  is  Maximilian  Levy 
and  he  owns  a  whole  lot  of  property." 

At  this  juncture  Miss  Levy  herself  poked  her  head 
through  the  doorway. 

"Milton,"  she  cried  sharply,  "ain't  you  got  some 
thing  to  do?  Because  if  you  haven't  there  are  a  lot 
of  cutting  slips  to  be  made  out." 

Charles  Zwiebel's  face  spread  into  a  broad  grin. 
"Go  ahead,  Milton,"  he  said,  "and  attend  to  business. 
I'll  wait  here  till  Rothman  comes  in." 

Ten  minutes  later  Levy  Rothman  entered.  He 
greeted  Zwiebel  with  a  scowl  and  glared  around  the 
empty  sample-room. 

"Well,  Zwiebel,"  he  growled,  "what  d'ye  want 
now?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  Zwiebel  replied  blandly.  "I 
thought  I'd  step  in  and  see  how  my  Milton  was 
getting  along." 

"You  see  how  he  is  getting  along,"  Rothman  said. 
"He  ain't  here  at  all.  That  feller  takes  an  hour  for 
his  lunch  every  day." 


i8o       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Zwiebel  drew  a  cigar  out  of  his  pocket  and  licked  it 
reflectively. 

"So,"  he  said,  "you  couldn't  do  no  better  with  him 
than  that,  hey?  Well,  Rothman,  I  guess  it  ain't  no 
use  fooling  away  your  time  any  more.  Give  me  my 
five  thousand  dollars  and  I  will  take  back  the  boy  into 
my  business  again." 

Rothman  turned  pale. 

"If  you  would  let  the  boy  stay  here  a  while,"  he 
suggested,  "he  would  turn  out  all  right,  maybe." 

"What's  the  matter?"  Zwiebel  asked.  "Ain't 
you  got  the  five  thousand  handy?" 

"The  five  thousand  is  nothing,"  Rothman  retorted. 
"You  could  get  your  five  thousand  whenever  you 
want  it.  The  fact  is,  Zwiebel,  while  the  boy  is  a  low- 
life,  y'understand,  I  take  an  interest  in  that  boy  and  I 
want  to  see  if  I  couldn't  succeed  in  making  a  man  of 
him." 

Mr.  Zwiebel  waved  his  hand  with  the  palm  out 
ward. 

"'S  all  right,  Rothman,"  he  said.  "You  shouldn't 
put  yourself  to  all  that  trouble.  You  done  enough 
for  the  boy,  and  I'm  sure  I'm  thankful  to  you.  Be 
sides,  I'm  sick  of  fooling  away  fifteen  dollars  every 
week." 

Rothman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Nah!"  he  said.  "Keep  the  fifteen  dollars,  I 
will  pay  him  the  fifteen  dollars  out  of  my  own 
pocket." 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  181 

"But  the  boy  is  all  the  time  complaining,  Rothman, 
he  couldn't  live  on  fifteen  dollars  a  week." 

"All  right,  I'll  give  him  twenty." 

Zwiebel  rose  to  his  feet. 

"You  will,  hey?"  he  roared.  "You  couldn't  get 
that  boy  for  fifty,  Rothman,  nor  a  hundred,  neither, 
because  I  knew  it  all  along,  Rothman,  and  I  always 
said  it,  that  boy  is  a  natural-born  business  man, 
y'understand,  and  next  week  I  shall  go  to  work  and 
buy  a  cloak  and  suit  business  and  put  him  into  it. 
And  that's  all  I  got  to  say  to  you." 

Maximilian  Levy,  real-estate  operator,  sat  in  his 
private  office  and  added  up  figures  on  the  back  of  an 
envelope.  As  he  did  so,  Charles  Zwiebel  entered. 

"Mr.  Levy? "Zwiebel  said. 

"That's  my  name,"  Levy  answered. 

"My  name  is  Mr.  Zwiebel,"  his  visitor  announced, 
"and  I  came  to  see  you  about  a  business  matter." 

"Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Zwiebel,"  Levy  replied.  "  Seems 
to  me  I  hear  that  name  somewheres." 

"I  guess  you  did  hear  it  before,"  Zwiebel  said. 
"Your  girl  works  by  the  same  place  what  my  boy 
used  to  work." 

"Oh,  Milton  Zwiebel,"  Levy  cried.  "Sure  I  heard 
the  name  before.  My  Clara  always  talks  about  what 
a  good  boy  he  is." 

"I  bet  yer  that's  a  good  boy,"  Zwiebel  declared 
proudly,  "and  a  good  business  head,  too,  Mr.  Levy. 


1 82        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

In  fact,  I  am  arranging  about  putting  the  boy  into  a 
cloak  and  suit  business,  and  I  understood  you  was  a 
business  broker  as  well  as  a  real-estate  operator." 

"Not  no  longer,"  Levy  answered.  "I  used  to  be  a 
business  broker  years  ago  already,  but  I  give  it  up 
since  way  before  the  Spanish  War." 

"Never  mind,"  Zwiebel  said;  "maybe  you  could 
help  me  out,  anyway.  What  I'm  looking  for  is  a 
partner  for  my  boy,  and  the  way  I  feel  about  it  is  like 
this:  The  boy  used  to  be  a  little  wild,  y'understand, 
and  so  I  am  looking  for  a  partner  for  him  what  would 
keep  him  straight;  and  no  matter  if  the  partner  didn't 
have  no  money,  Mr.  Levy,  I  wouldn't  take  it  so  par 
ticular.  That  boy  is  the  only  boy  what  I  got,  and 
certainly  I  ain't  a  begger,  neither,  y'understand.  You 
should  ask  anybody  in  the  cigar  business,  Mr.  Levy, 
and  they  will  tell  you  I  am  pretty  well  fixed  already." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Mr.  Levy  replied.  "You  got  a 
pretty  good  rating.  I  looked  you  up  already.  But, 
anyhow,  Mr.  Zwiebel,  I  ain't  in  the  business  brokerage 


no  more." 


"I  know  you  ain't,"  Zwiebel  said,  "but  you  could 
find  just  the  partner  for  my  boy." 

"I  don't  know  of  no  partner  for  your  boy,  Mr. 
Zwiebel." 

"Yes,  you  do,"  Zwiebel  cried.  "You  know  the 
very  partner  what  I  want  for  that  boy.  Her  name  is 
Clara  Levy." 

"What!  "Levy  cried. 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  183 

"Yes,  sir,"  Zwiebel  went  on  breathlessly.  "That's 
the  partner  I  mean.  That  boy  loves  that  girl  of 
yours,  Mr.  Levy,  and  certainly  he  ought  to  love 
her,  because  she  done  a  whole  lot  for  that  boy,  Mr. 
Levy,  and  I  got  to  say  that  she  thinks  a  whole  lot  of 
him,  too." 

"But "  Mr.  Levy  commenced. 

"But  nothing,  Mr.  Levy,"  Zwiebel  interrupted. 
"If  the  girl  is  satisfied  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  do  a 
thing  for  the  boy.  Everything  I  will  do  for  him  my 
self." 

Mr.  Levy  rose  and  extended  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Zwiebel,"  he  declared,  "this  is  certainly 
very  generous  of  you.  I  tell  you  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  I  got  four  girls  at  home  and  two  of  'em  ain't 
so  young  no  more,  so  I  couldn't  say  that  I  am  all 
broke  up  exactly.  At  the  same  time,  Mr.  Zwiebel, 
my  Clara  is  a  good  girl,  and  this  much  I  got  to  say,  I 
will  give  that  girl  a  trousseau  like  a  queen  should 


wear  it." 


Zwiebel  shrugged. 

"Well,  sure,"  he  said,  "it  ain't  no  harm  that  a  girl 
should  have  a  few  diamonds  what  she  could  wear  it 
occasionally.  At  the  same  time,  don't  go  to  no  ex 
pense." 

"And  I  will  make  for  her  a  wedding,  Mr  Zwiebel," 
Levy  cried  enthusiastically,  "which  there  never  was 
before.  A  bottle  of  tchampanyer  wine  to  every 
guest." 


1 84        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"And  now,  Mr.  Levy,"  Zwiebel  said,  "let  us  go 
downstairs  and  have  a  bottle  tchampanyer  wine  to 
ourselves." 

That  evening  Milton  and  Clara  sat  together  in  the 
front  parlour  of  the  Levy  residence  on  One  Hundred 
and  Nineteenth  Street.  They  had  plighted  their 
troth  more  than  an  hour  before  and  ought  to  have 
been  billing  and  cooing. 

"No,  Milton,"  Clara  said  as  she  caressed  her 
fiance's  hand,  "credit  information  shouldn't  be 
entered  on  cards.  It  ought  to  be  placed  in  an  en 
velope  and  indexed  on  a  card  index  after  it's  been 
filed.  Then  you  can  put  the  mercantile  agency's 
report  right  in  the  envelope." 

"Do  you  think  we  should  get  some  of  them  loose- 
leaf  ledgers  ?"  he  asked  her  as  he  pressed  a  kiss  on  her 
left  hand. 

"I  think  they're  sloppy,"  she  replied.  "Give  me  a 
bound  ledger  every  time." 

"All  right,"  Milton  murmured.  "Now,  let's  talk 
about  something  else." 

"Yes,"  she  cried  enthusiastically,  "let's  talk  about 
the  fixtures.  What  d'ye  say  to  some  of  those  low 
racks  and " 

"Oh,  cut  it  out!"  Milton  said  as  he  took  a  snugger 
reef  in  his  embrace.  "How  about  the  music  at  the 
wedding?" 

"Popper  will  fix  that,"  she  replied. 

"No,  he  won't,"  Milton  exclaimed.     "I'm  going  to 


MAKING  OVER  MILTON  185 

pay  for  it  myself.     In  fact,  I'll  hire  'em  to-morrow 


morning." 


"Who'll  you  get?"  she  asked. 
"Professor   Lusthaus's  grand  orchestra,"  Milton 
said  with  a  grin. 


CHAPTER  SIX 
BIRSKY  &  ZAPP 

A  CHARITABLE  sucker  like  Jonas   Eschen- 
bach,  of  Cordova,  Ohio,  is  always  a  close 
buyer,   Barney,"  said  Louis  Birsky  to  his 
partner,  Barnett  Zapp,  as  they  sat  in  their  show 
room  one  morning  in  April.     "For  every  dollar  he 
gives  to  an  orphan  asylum  oder  a  hospital,  under 
stand  me,  he  beats  Adelstern  down  two  on  his  prices; 
and  supposing  Adelstern  does  sell  him  every  sea 
son,  for  example,  eight  thousand  dollars,  Barney — 
what  is  it?" 

"Sure,  I  know,  Louis,"  Barnett  Zapp  retorted 
satirically.  "The  dawg  says  the  grapes  ain't  ripe  be 
cause  he  couldn't  reach  'em  already." 

Birsky  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"For  that  matter,  Barney,"  he  said,  "if  the  dawg 
could  reach  'em  oder  not,  y'understand,  it  wouldn't 
make  no  difference,  Barney,  because  a  dawg  don't 
eat  grapes  anyhow.  He  eats  meat,  Barney;  and, 
furthermore,  Barney,  if  you  think  it's  bekovet  one 
partner  calls  the  other  partner  a  dawg,  y'understand, 
go  ahead  and  do  so,  Barney." 

186 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  187 

"I  ain't  calling  you  a  dawg,  Louis,"  Zapp  pro 
tested. 

"Ain't  you?"  Louis  rejoined.  "All  right,  Barney, 
then  I  must  be  getting  deaf  all  of  a  sudden;  but 
whether  you  are  calling  me  a  dawg  oder  not,  Barney, 
I  ain't  looking  to  sell  no  goods  to  Jonas  Eschenbach. 
On  account  even  if  he  would  buy  at  our  price,  y 'under 
stand,  then  he  wants  us  we  should  schnoder  for  this 
orphan  asylum  a  hundred  dollars  and  for  that  orphan 
asylum  another  hundred,  understand  me — till  we 
don't  get  no  profit  left  at  all." 

"That's  all  right,  Louis,"  Barney  said.  "It  don't 
do  no  harm  that  a  feller  should  give  to  charity  oncet 
in  a  while,  even  if  it  would  be  to  please  a  customer." 

"  I  wouldn't  argue  with  you,  Barney,"  Louis  agreed, 
"but  another  thing,  Barney :  the  feller  is  crazy  about 
baseball,  understand  me,  which  every  time  he  is 
coming  down  here  in  August  to  buy  his  fall  and  winter 
line,  Adelstern  must  got  to  waste  a  couple  weeks 
going  on  baseball  games  mit  him." 

"Well,  anyhow,  Louis,  Adelstern  don't  seem  so 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  him,"  Zapp  said.  "Only  yester 
day  I  seen  him  lunching  with  Eschenbach  over  in 
Hammersmith's,  y'understand;  and  the  way  Adel 
stern  is  spreading  himself  mit  broiled  squabs  and 
'sparagus  and  hafterward  a  pint  of  tchampanyer  to 
finish,  understand  me,  it  don't  look  like  he  is  losing 
out  on  Eschenbach." 

"That's  all  right,  Barney,"  Birsky  declared  as  he 


1 88        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

rose  to  his  feet;  "some  people  wastes  money  and 
some  people  wastes  time,  and  if  you  ain't  got  no 
objections,  Barney,  I  would  take  a  look  into  the 
cutting  room  and  see  how  Golnik  is  getting  on  with 
them  1855*8.  We  must  positively  got  to  ship  them 
goods  to  Feigenbaum  before  the  end  of  next  week; 
because  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Barney,  with  a 
crank  like  Feigenbaum  we  couldn't  take  no  chances. 
He  is  coming  in  here  this  morning  yet,  and  the  first 
thing  he  wants  to  know  is  how  about  them  1855*5." 

As  he  started  for  the  door,  however,  he  was  in 
terrupted  by  Jacob  Golnik,  who  comported  himself  in 
a  manner  so  apologetic  as  to  be  well-nigh  cringing. 

"Mr.  Birsky,"  he  said,  "could  I  speak  a  few  words 
something  to  you  ? " 

"What's  the  matter,  Golnik?"  exclaimed  Birsky. 
"Did  you  spoil  them  1855*8  on  us?" 

Ordinarily  the  condescension  that  marks  the  rela 
tions  between  a  designer  and  his  employer  is  exerted 
wholly  by  the  designer;  and  the  alarm  with  which 
Birsky  viewed  his  designer's  servility  was  immediately 
communicated  to  Zapp. 

"I  told  you  that  silk  was  too  good  for  them  gar 
ments,  Birsky,"  Zapp  cried. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  you  told  me  the  silk  was  too 
good?"  Birsky  shouted.  "I  says  right  along  giving 
silk  like  that  in  a  garment  which  sells  for  eight  dollars 
is  a  crime,  Zapp;  and " 

"  Aber  I  ain't  touched  the  silk  yet,"  Golnik  in- 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  189 

terrupted ; "  so  what  is  the  use  you  are  disturbing  your 
self,  Mr.  Birsky?  I  am  coming  to  see  you  about 
something  else  again,  entirely  different  already." 

Birsky  grew  suddenly  calm. 

"So,  Golnik,"  he  said,  "you  are  coming  here  to  see 
us  about  something  else  again !  Well,  before  you  be 
gin,  Golnik,  let  me  tell  you  you  stand  a  swell  chance 
to  gouge  us  for  more  money.  We  would  positively 
stand  on  our  contract  with  you,  Golnik;  and  even  if  it 
would  be  our  busiest  season,  Golnik,  we " 

"What  are  you  talking  nonsense,  Mr.  Birsky?" 
Golnik  broke  in.  "I  ain't  coming  here  to  ask  money 
for  myself,  Mr.  Birsky;  and,  furthermore,  Mr.  Birsky, 
you  must  got  to  understand  that  nowadays  is  a 
difference  matter  already  from  conditions  in  the 
cloak  and  suit  trade  ten  years  ago.  Nowadays  an 
employer  must  got  to  take  some  little  benevolence  in 
the  interests  of  his  employees,  understand  me,  which 
when  me  and  Joseph  Bogin  and  I.  Kanef  gets  to 
gether  with  the  operators  and  formed  the  Mutual 
Aid  Society  Employees  of  Birsky  &  Zapp,  understand 
me,  we  done  it  as  much  out  of  consideration  by  you, 
Mr.  Birsky,  as  by  us." 

Birsky  exchanged  disquieting  glances  with  his 
partner. 

"Sit  down,  Golnik,"  he  said,  "and  tell  me  what  is 
all  this  Verrucktheit" 

"  Ferriicktheit!"  Golnik  cried  indignantly.  "What 
d'ye  mean,  V erruckiheit,  Mr.  Birsky?  This  here  is 


190       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

something  which  a  big  concern  like  H.  Dexter  Adel- 
stern  is  taking  up,  and  you  would  see  that  other 
people  gets  in  it,  too.  These  here  mutual  aid  societies 
is  something  which  it  not  only  benefits  the  employees 
but  also  the  employers,  Mr.  Birsky." 

"You  already  said  that  before,  Golnik,"  Birsky  in 
terrupted;  "and  if  you  think  we  are  paying  you  you 
should  make  speeches  round  here,  Golnik,  let  me  tell 
you,  Golnik,  that  Feigenbaum  would  be  in  our  place 
any  minute  now;  and  if  we  couldn't  show  him  we  are 
going  ahead  on  them  1855*8,  understand  me,  the  first 
thing  you  know  he  would  go  to  work  and  cancel  the 
order  on  us." 

"That  may  be,  Mr.  Birsky,"  Golnik  went  on, 
"  aber  this  here  proposition  which  I  am  putting  up  to 
you  is  a  whole  lot  more  important  to  you  as  Feigen- 
baum's  order." 

Birsky  opened  his  mouth  to  enunciate  a  vigorous 
protest,  but  Golnik  forestalled  him  by  pounding  a 
sample  table  with  his  fist  in  a  gesture  he  had  observed 
only  the  night  before  at  a  lodge  meeting  of  the  I.  O. 
M.A. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Birsky,"  he  shouted,  "if  you  would 
want  to  do  away  with  strikes  and  loafing  in  your  shop, 
understand  me,  now  is  your  chance,  Mr.  Birsky;  be 
cause  if  an  operator  is  got  on  deposit  with  his  em 
ployers  ten  dollars  even,  he  ain't  going  to  be  in  such 
a  hurry  that  he  should  strike  oder  get  fired." 

"Got   on   deposit  ten   dollars?"   Zapp   inquired. 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  191 

"How  does  our  operators  come  to  got  with  us  a 
deposit  often  dollars,  Golnik?" 

"It's  a  very  simple  thing,  Mr.  Zapp,"  Golnik  ex 
plained:  "From  the  first  five  weeks'  wages  of  every 
one  of  your  hundred  operators  you  deduct  one  dollar 
a  week  and  keep  it  in  the  bank.  That  makes  five 
hundred  dollars." 

Zapp  nodded. 

"Then  after  that  you  deduct  only  twenty-five  cents 
a  week,"  Golnik  went  on;  "aber,  at  the  end  of  five 
weeks  only,  the  operator's  got  ten  dollars  to  his  credit 
— and  right  there  you  got  'em  where  they  wouldn't 
risk  getting  fired  by  loafing  or  striking." 

"  Aber,  if  we  deduct  one  dollar  a  week  from  a 
hundred  operators  for  five  weeks,  Golnik,"  Zapp  com 
mented,  "that  makes  only  five  hundred  dollars,  or 
five  dollars  to  each  operator — ain't  it  ? " 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Golnik  replied;  " aber  you  and  Mr. 
Birsky  donate  yourselves  to  the  mutual  aid  society 
five  hundred  dollars,  and 

"What!"  Birsky  shrieked.  "Zapp  and  me  donate 
five  hundred  dollars  to  your  rotten  society!" 

"Huh-huh,"  Golnik  asserted  weakly,  and  Zapp 
grew  purple  with  rage. 

"What  do  you  thinkwe  are, Golnik,"  he  demanded, 
"millionaires  oder  crazy  in  the  head?  We  got 
enough  to  do  with  our  money  without  we  should 
make  a  present  to  a  lot  of  low-life  bums  five  hundred 
dollars." 


192        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Well,  then,  for  a  start,"  Golnik  said,  "make  it 
three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

"We  wouldn't  give  three  hundred  and  fifty  but 
tons,  Golnik!"  Birsky  declared  savagely.  "If  you 
want  to  be  a  mutual  aid  society,  Golnik,  nobody 
stops  you,  aber  we  wouldn't  deduct  nothing  and  we 
wouldn't  donate  nothing;  so  if  it's  all  the  same  to 
you,  Golnik,  you  should  go  ahead  on  them  1855*5  and 
make  an  end  here." 

Having  thus  closed  the  interview,  Louis  Birsky 
turned  his  back  on  the  disgruntled  Golnik,  who  stood 
hesitatingly  for  a  brief  interval. 

"You  don't  want  a  little  time  to  think  it  over 
maybe  ? "  he  suggested. 

"Think  it  over!"  Louis  bellowed.  "What  d'ye 
mean,  think  it  over?  If  you  stop  some  one  which  he 
is  trying  to  pick  your  pocket,  Golnik,  would  you 
think  it  over  and  let  him  pick  it,  Golnik?  What  for 
an  idee!" 

He  snorted  so  indignantly  that  he  brought  on  a  fit 
of  coughing,  in  the  midst  of  which  Golnik  escaped, 
while  the  bulky  figure  of  One-eye  Feigenbaum  ap 
proached  from  the  elevator. 

"What's  the  matter,  boys?"  he  said  as  with  his 
remaining  eye  he  surveyed  the  retreating  figure  of 
Jacob  Golnik.  "Do  you  got  trouble  with  your  de 
signer  again?" 

Birsky  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Who  ain't  got  trouble  mil  a  designer,  Mr.  Feigen- 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  193 

baum?"  he  asked.  "And  the  better  the  designer, 
y'understand,  the  more  you  got  trouble  mit  him. 
Actually,  Mr.  Feigenbaum,  you  wouldn't  believe 
the  nerve  that  feller  Golnik  is  got  it.  If  we  wouldn't 
sit  on  him  all  the  time,  understand  me,  he  tries  to 
run  our  business  for  us.  Nothing  is  too  much  that 
he  asks  us  we  should  do  for  him." 

Feigenbaum  pawed  the  air  with  his  right  hand  and 
sat  down  ponderously. 

"You  ain't  got  nothing  on  me,  Birsky,"  he  said. 
"Honestly,  if  you  would  be  running  a  drygoods  store 
— and  especially  a  chain  of  drygoods  stores  like  I  got 
it,  understand  me — every  saleswoman  acts  like  a 
designer,  only  worser  yet.  Do  you  know  what  is  the 
latest  craze  with  them  girls  ? " 

He  emitted  a  tremulous  sigh  before  answering  his 
own  rhetorical  question. 

"Welfare  work!"  he  continued.  "Restrooms  and 
lunchrooms,  mit  a  trained  nurse  and  Gott  weiss  was 
noch!  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like,  Birsky? — I  should 
go  to  work  and  give  them  girls  a  restroom!  I  says 
to  Miss  McGivney,  my  store  superintendent  in 
Cordova,  I  says:  'If  the  girls  wants  to  rest,'  I  says, 
'they  should  go  home,'  I  says.  'Here  we  pay  'em  to 
work,  not  to  rest,'  I  says." 

He  paused  for  breath  and  wiped  away  an  indignant 
moisture  from  his  forehead. 

"In  my  Bridgetown  store  they  ain't  kicking  at  all," 
he  went  on;  " dber  in  my  Cordova  store — that's  dif- 


194       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

ferent  again.  There  I  got  that  meshugganeh  Eschen- 
bach  to  deal  with;  which,  considering  the  monkey 
business  which  goes  on  in  that  feller's  place,  y'under- 
stand,  it's  a  wonder  to  me  that  they  got  any  time  to 
attend  to  business  at  all.  Two  people  he's  got  work 
ing  for  him  there — a  man  and  a  woman — which 
does  nothing  but  look  after  this  here  welfare  Ndr- 
rischkeit." 

"Go  away!"  Birsky  exclaimed.  "You  don't  say 
so!" 

"The  man  used  to  was  a  Spieler  from  baseball," 
Feigenbaum  continued;  "and  him  and  Eschenbach 
fixes  up  a  ball  team  from  the  clerks  and  delivery- 
wagon  drivers,  which  they  could  lick  even  a  lot  of 
loafers  which  makes  a  business  of  baseball  already." 

Birsky  waggled  his  head  from  side  to  side  and  made 
incoherent  sounds  through  his  nose  by  way  of  ex 
pressing  his  sympathy. 

"And  yet,"  Feigenbaum  continued,  "with  all 
Eschenbach's  craziness  about  baseball  and  charities, 
Birsky,  he  does  a  big  business  there  in  Cordova, 
which  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same.  Honestly,  Bir 
sky,  such  a  mean  lot  of  salespeople  which  I  got  it  in 
Cordova,  y'understand,  you  wouldn't  believe  at  all. 
They  are  all  the  time  at  doggerheads  with  me." 

"It's  the  same  thing  with  us  here,  Mr.  Feigen 
baum,"  Birsky  said.  "Why,  would  you  believe  it, 
Mr.  Feigenbaum,  just  before  you  come  in,  under 
stand  me,  Golnik  is  trying  to  hold  us  up  we  should 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  195 

donate  five  hundred  dollars  for  an  employees'  mutual 
benefit  society!" 

Henry  Feigenbaum  pursed  his  lips  as  he  listened 
to  Birsky. 

"I  hope,"  he  said  in  harsh  tones,  "you  turned  'em 
down,  Birsky." 

Birsky  nodded. 

"I  bet  yer  I  did,"  he  replied  fervently,  "like  a 
shot  already." 

"Because,"  Feigenbaum  continued,  "if  any  con 
cern  which  I  am  dealing  with  starts  any  such  foolish 
ness  as  that,  Birsky,  I  wouldn't  buy  from  them  a 
dollar's  worth  more  goods  so  long  as  I  live — and 
that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"We  ain't  got  no  such  idee  in  our  head  at  all,"  Zapp 
assured  him  almost  tearfully.  "Why,  if  you  would 
hear  the  way  we  jumped  on  Golnik  for  suggesting 
it  even,  you  wouldn't  think  the  feller  would  work  for 
us  any  more." 

"I'm  glad  to  know  it,"  Feigenbaum  said.  "Us 
business  men  has  got  to  stick  together,  Zapp,  and 
keep  charity  where  it  belongs,  understand  me;  other 
wise  we  wouldn't  know  whether  we  are  running  busi 
nesses  oder  hospitals  mit  lodgeroom  annexes,  the  way 
them  employees'  aid  societies  is  springing  up." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  took  off  his  hat  and  coat, 
preparatory  to  going  over  Birsky  &  Zapp's  sample 
line. 

"What  we  want  in  towns  like  Bridgetown  and 


196       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Cordova  is  less  charities  and  more  asphalt  pave 
ments,"  he  declared.  "Every  time  a  feller  comes  in 
the  store,  Birsky,  I  couldn't  tell  whether  he  is  a  col 
lector  for  a  hospital  oder  a  wagon  shop.  My  delivery 
system  costs  me  a  fortune  for  repairs  already,  the 
pavements  is  so  rotten." 

Zapp  clucked  his  tongue  sympathetically. 

"If  it  ain't  one  thing  it's  another,"  he  said;  "so,  if 
you're  ready  to  look  over  the  rest  of  our  line,  Mr. 
Feigenbaum,  I  could  assure  you  the  first  operator 
which  he  is  going  into  a  mutual  aid  society  here  gets 
fired  on  the  spot,  Mr.  Feigenbaum.  We  would  start 
showing  you  these  here  washable  poplins,  which  is 
genuine  bargains  at  one  seventy-five  apiece." 

When  Louis  Birsky  seated  himself  in  Hammer 
smith's  restaurant  at  one  o'clock  that  afternoon  his 
appetite  had  been  sharpened  by  a  two-thousand- 
dollar  order  from  Henry  Feigenbaum,  who  that  noon 
had  departed  for  his  home  in  western  Pennsylvania. 
Hence  Louis  attacked  a  dish  of  gejullte  Rinderbrust 
with  so  much  ardour  that  he  failed  to  notice  the  pres 
ence  at  an  adjoining  table  of  Jonas  Eschenbach,  the 
philanthropic  drygoods  merchant;  and  it  was  not 
until  Louis  had  sopped  up  the  last  drop  of  gravy  and 
leaned  back  in  voluptuous  contemplation  of  ordering 
his  dessert  that  the  strident  tones  of  Charles  Fink- 
man,  senior  member  of  Finkman  &  Maisener,  at 
tracted  his  attentioa 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  197 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Eschenbach?"  Fink- 
man  cried.  "  What  brings  you  to  New  York  ? " 

"I  got  to  do  some  additional  spring  buying  the 
same  like  every  other  drygoods  merchant,"  Eschen 
bach  replied.  "You've  no  idee  what  elegant  weather 
we  got  it  out  on  the  Lakes  this  spring.  Spring  styles 
was  selling  like  hot  cakes  in  March  already;  and  our 
store  employees'  association  held  a  picnic  the  first 
Sunday  in  April  which  we  beat  the  tar  out  of  a  nine 
from  a  furniture  factory — five  to  four  in  a  ten-inning 
game." 

"Is  that  a  fact?"  Finkman  said.  " Aber  how  does 
it  come  that  you  are  lunching  alone,  Mr.  Eschen 
bach?" 

"Adelstern  was  coming  with  me,"  Eschenbach 
replied,  "but  at  the  last  minute  he  had  to  attend  the 
weekly  luncheon  of  his  cutting  staff.  It's  wonderful 
the  way  that  feller  has  got  his  workpeople  organized, 
Mr.  Finkman!  He's  a  very  enlightened  merchant, 
with  a  lot  of  very  fine  idees  for  the  welfare  of  his  em 
ployees.  And  you  can  well  believe  it,  Mr.  Finkman, 
goods  made  under  such  ideel  conditions  are  very  at 
tractive  to  me.  I've  been  a  customer  of  Adelstern's 
for  many  years  now;  and  sometimes,  if  he  ain't  got 
exactly  what  I  am  looking  for,  I  take  the  next  best 
thing  from  him.  I  believe  in  encouraging  idees  like 
Adelstern's — especially  when  he  is  got  a  very  nifty 
little  ball  team  in  his  society,  too." 

If  there  was  one  quality  above  all  others  upon 


198       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

which  Charles  Finkman  prided  himself  it  was  his 
philanthropy;  and  as  a  philanthropist  he  yielded 
precedence  to  nobody.  Indeed,  his  name  graced 
the  title  pages  of  as  many  institutional  reports  as 
there  were  orphan  asylums,  hospitals,  and  homes 
appurtenant  to  his  religious  community  within  the 
boundaries  of  Greater  New  York;  for  both  he  and 
his  partner  had  long  since  discovered  that  as  an  ad 
vertising  medium  the  annual  report  of  a  hospital  is 
superior  to  an  entire  year's  issue  of  a  trade  journal, 
and  the  cost  is  distinctly  lower.  The  idea  that  phi 
lanthropy  among  one's  own  employees  could  promote 
sales  had  never  occurred  to  him,  however,  and  it  came 
as  a  distinct  shock  that  he  had  so  long  neglected  this 
phase  of  salesmanship. 

"Why,  I  never  thought  that  any  concern  in  the 
cloak  and  suit  business  was  doing  such  things." 
Finkman  continued;  and  his  tones  voiced  his  chagrin 
at  the  discovery  of  Adelstern's  philanthropic  innova 
tion.  "I  knew  that  drygoods  stores  like  yours,  Mr. 
Eschenbach,  they  got  a  lot  of  enlightened  idees,  but 
I  never  knew  nobody  which  is  doing  such  things  in 
the  cloak  and  suit  trade." 

At  this  juncture  Louis  Birsky  abandoned  his  plans 
for  a  Saint  Honore  tart,  with  Vienna  coffee  and  cream. 
Instead  he  conceived  a  bold  stroke  of  salesmanship, 
and  he  turned  immediately  to  Finkman. 

"What  are  you  talking  nonsense,  Mr.  Finkman?" 
he  said.  "We  ourselves  got  in  our  place  already  an 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  199 

employees'  mutual  aid  society,  which  our  designer, 
Jacob  Golnik,  is  president  of  it — and  all  the  opera 
tors  belong  yet." 

It  cannot  truthfully  be  said  that  Finkman  received 
this  information  with  any  degree  of  enthusiasm;  and 
perhaps,  to  a  person  of  less  rugged  sensibilities  than 
Louis  Birsky,  Finkman's  manner  might  have  seemed 
a  trifle  chilly  as  he  searched  his  mind  for  a  sufficiently 
discouraging  rejoinder. 

"Of  course,  Birsky,"  he  growled  at  last,  "when  I 
says  I  didn't  know  any  concerns  in  the  cloak  and 
suit  business  which  is  got  a  mutual  aid  society,  under 
stand  me,  I  ain't  counting  small  concerns." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Birsky  replied  cheerfully;  "but 
I  am  telling  you,  Finkman,  that  we  got  such  a  mu 
tual  aid  society,  which,  if  you  are  calling  a  hundred 
operators  a  small  concern,  Finkman,  you  got 
awful  big  idees,  Finkman,  and  that's  all  I  got  to 
say." 

Eschenbach  smiled  amiably  by  way  of  smoothing 
things  over. 

"Have  your  hundred  operators  formed  a  mutual 
aid  society,  Mr.— 

"My  name  is  Mr.  Birsky,"  Louis  said,  rising  from 
his  chair;  and,  without  further  encouragement,  he 
seated  himself  at  Eschenbach's  table,  "of  Birsky 
&  Zapp;  and  we  not  only  got  a  hundred  operators, 
Mr.  Eschenbach,  but  our  cutting-room  staff  and  our 
office  staff  also  joins  the  society." 


200       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"You  don't  tell  me,"  Eschenbach  commented. 
"And  how  do  you  find  it  works  ? " 

"W-e-e-ll,Itellyer,"  Birsky  commenced,  "of  course 
we  ourselves  got  to  donate  already  five  hundred 
dollars  to  start  the  thing,  Mr.  Eschenbach." 

While  he  made  this  startling  declaration  he  gazed 
steadily  at  Finkman,  who  was  moving  his  head  in  a 
slow  and  skeptic  nodding,  as  one  who  says:  "  Yowl 
Ich  glauVs." 

"Five  hundred  dollars  it  costs  us  only  to-day  yet, 
Mr.  Eschenbach,"  Birsky  went  on,  clearing  his  throat 
pompously;  "but  certainly,  Mr.  Eschenbach,  in  the 
end  it  pays  us." 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out  ? "  Finkman  demanded 
gruffly. 

"Why, the  money  remains  on  deposit  with  a  bank," 
Birsky  explained,  "and  every  week  for  five  weeks  we 
deduct  from  the  operators'  wages  also  one  dollar  a 
week,  which  we  put  with  the  five  hundred  we  are 
giving." 

Finkman  continued  to  nod  more  briskly  in  a  man 
ner  that  proclaimed:  "I  see  the  whole  thing  now." 

"So  that  at  the  end  of  five  weeks,"  Birsky  went  on, 
"every  operator  is  got  coming  to  him  ten  dollars." 

Finkman  snorted  cynically. 

"Coming  to  him!"  he  said  with  satirical  emphasis. 

"Coming  to  him,"  Birsky  retorted,  "that's  what 
I  said,  Finkman;  and  the  whole  idee  is  very  fine  for 
us  as  well  as  for  them." 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  201 

"I  should  say  so,"  Finkman  commented;  "because 
at  the  end  of  five  weeks  you  got  in  bank  a  thousand 
dollars  which  you  ain't  paying  no  interest  on  to  no 
body." 

"With  us,  a  thousand  dollars  don't  figure  so  much 
as  like  with  some  people,  Finkman,"  Birsky  retorted; 
"and  our  idee  is  that  if  we  should  keep  the  money 
on  deposit  it's  like  a  security  that  our  operators 
wouldn't  strike  on  us  so  easy.  Furthermore,  Fink 
man,  if  you  are  doubting  our  good  faith,  understand 
me,  let  me  say  that  Mr.  Eschenbach  is  welcome  he 
should  come  round  to  my  place  to-morrow  morning 
yet  and  I  would  show  him  everything  is  open  and 
aboveboard,  like  a  lodge  already." 

"Why,  I  should  be  delighted  to  see  how  this  thing 
works  with  you,  Mr.  Birsky,"  Eschenbach  said.  "I 
suppose  you  know  what  an  interest  I  am  taking  in 
welfare  work  of  this  description." 

"I  think  he  had  a  sort  of  an  idee  of  it,"  Finkman 
interrupted,  "when  he  butts  in  here." 

Again  Eschenbach  smiled  beneficently  on  the  rival 
manufacturers  in  an  effort  to  preserve  the  peace. 

"I  should  like  to  have  some  other  details  from  your 
plan,  Mr.  Birsky,"  he  said.  "How  do  you  propose 
to  spend  this  money  ? " 

Birsky  drew  back  his  chair  from  the  table. 

"It's  a  long  story,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  he  replied; 
"and  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you  I  would  tell  you  the 
whole  thing  round  at  my  place  to-morrow  morning." 


202       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and,  searching  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  produced  a  card  that  he  laid  on  the  table  in 
front  of  Eschenbach. 

"Here  is  our  card,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  he  said,  "and 
I  hope  we  could  look  for  you  at  eleven  o'clock, 
say." 

"Make  it  half-past  ten,  Mr.  Birsky,"  Eschenbach 
replied  as  he  extended  his  hand  in  farewell.  "Will 
you  join  me  there,  Mr.  Finkman  ? " 

Finkman  nodded  sulkily. 

"I  will  if  I  got  the  time,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  he 
said;  "  aber  don't  rely  on  me  too  much." 

A  malicious  smile  spread  itself  over  Birsky's  fact 
as  he  started  to  leave. 

"Me  and  my  partner  is  going  to  feel  terrible  dis 
appointed  if  you  don't  show  up,  Finkman,"  he  de 
clared;  and  with  this  parting  shot  he  hurried  back 
to  his  place  of  business. 

"Say,  Barney,"  he  said  after  he  had  removed  his 
hat,  "ain't  it  surprising  what  a  back  number  a  feller 
like  Charles  Finkman  is  ? " 

"We  should  be  such  back  numbers  as  Finkman  & 
Maisener,  Louis,"  Barney  commented  dryly,  "with 
a  rating  two  hundred  thousand  to  three  hundred 
thousand,  first  credit." 

"Even  so,"  Louis  commented,  "the  feller  surprises 
me — he  is  such  an  iggeramus.  Actually,  Barney, 
he  says  he  never  knew  that  a  single  garment  manu 
facturer  in  the  city  of  New  York  is  got  in  his  shop 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  203 

one  of  them  there  mutual  aid  affairs.  'Why,  Mr. 
Finkman,'  I  says,  'we  ourselves  got  such  a  mutual 
aid  society,'  I  says;  and  right  away  Eschenbach  says 
he  would  come  round  here  to-morrow  morning  and 
see  how  the  thing  works.  So  you  should  tell  Kanef 
he  should  fix  over  them  racks  to  show  up  well  them 
changeable  taffetas.  Also,  Barney,  you  should  tell 
Kanef  to  put  them  serges  and  the  other  stickers  back 
of  the  piece  goods;  and " 

At  this  point  Barney  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

"One  moment,  Louis,"  he  cried.  "What  d'ye 
mean  Eschenbach  comes  to-morrow?" 

"Why,  Eschenbach  is  interested  in  our  mutual  aid 
society;  and " 

"Our  mutual  aid  society!"  Barney  cried.  "What 
are  you  talking  about,  our  mutual  aid  society?" 

"Well,  then,  Golnik's  mutual  aid  society,"  Louis 
continued. 

"Golnik's  mutual  aid  society!"  exclaimed  Zapp. 
"Golnik  ain't  got  no  mutual  aid  society  no  more, 
Birsky.  I  told  him  after  you  are  gone  to  lunch, 
Birsky,  that  if  him  oder  anybody  else  round  here 
even  so  much  as  mentions  such  a  thing  to  us  again 
we  would  fire  'em  right  out  of  here,  contracts  oder  no 


contracts." 


Birsky  sat  down  in  a  chair  and  gazed  mournfully 
at  his  partner. 

"You  told  him  that,  Zapp  ? "  he  said. 

"I  certainly  did,"  Zapp  replied.     "What  do  you 


204       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

think  I  would  tell  him  after  the  way  Feigenbaum 
takes  on  so?" 

Birsky  nodded  his  head  slowly. 

"That's  the  way  it  goes,  Zapp,"  he  said.  "I  am 
sitting  there  in  Hammersmith's  half  an  hour  already, 
scheming  how  we  should  get  Eschenbach  round  here 
so  he  should  look  over  our  line — which  I  didn't 
hardly  eat  nothing  at  all,  understand  me— and  you 
go  to  work  and  knock  away  the  ground  from  under 
my  toes  already!" 

"What  d'ye  mean,  I  am  knocking  away  the  ground 
from  under  your  toes?"  Zapp  cried  indignantly. 
"What  has  Golnik's  mutual  aid  society  got  to  do 
mit  your  toes,  Birsky — oder  Eschenbach,  neither?" 

"It's  got  a  whole  lot  to  do  with  it,"  Birsky  de 
clared.  "It's  got  everything  to  do  with  it;  in  fact, 
Barney,  if  it  wouldn't  be  that  I  am  telling  Eschen 
bach  we  got  a  mutual  aid  society  here  he  wouldn't 
come  round  here  at  all." 

"That's  all  right,"  Zapp  said.  "He  ain't  in  the 
mutual  aid  society  business — he's  in  the  drygoods 
business,  Louis;  and  so  soon  as  we  showed  him  them 
changeable  taffetas  at  eight  dollars  he  would  quick 
forget  all  about  mutual  aid  societies." 

Birsky  shook  his  head  emphatically. 

"That's  where  you  make  a  big  mistake,  Barney," 
he  replied;  and  forthwith  he  unfolded  to  Zapp  a  cir 
cumstantial  narrative  of  his  encounter  with  Eschen 
bach  and  Finkman  at  Hammersmith's  cafe, 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  205 

"So  you  see,  Barney,"  he  continued,  "if  we  are 
ever  going  to  do  business  mil  Eschenbach,  under 
stand  me,  for  a  start  the  mutual  aid  society  is  every 
thing  and  the  changeable  taffetas  don't  figure  at  all." 

"But  I  thought  you  are  saying  this  morning  you 
wouldn't  want  to  do  business  mit  Esehenbach,"  Zapp 
protested. 

"This  morning  was  something  else  again,"  Birsky 
said.  "This  morning  I  was  busy  getting  through 
mit  Feigenbaum,  which  if  I  got  a  bird  in  one  hand, 
Barney,  I  ain't  trying  to  hold  two  in  the  other." 

"That's  all  right,  Louis,"  Zapp  replied,  "if  you 
think  when  you  booked  Feigenbaum's  order  that 
you  got  a  bird  in  one  hand,  Louis,  you  better  wait 
till  the  goods  is  shipped  and  paid  for.  Otherwise, 
Louis,  if  Feigenbaum  hears  you  are  monkeying  round 
mit  mutual  aid  societies  he  would  go  to  work  and 
cancel  the  order  on  us,  and  you  could  kiss  yourself 
good-bye  with  his  business." 

" Schmooes,  Barney!"  Birsky  protested.  "How 
is  Feigenbaum,  which  he  is  safe  in  Bridgetown,  going 
to  find  out  what  is  going  on  in  our  shop?  We  could 
be  running  here  a  dozen  mutual  aid  societies,  under 
stand  me,  for  all  that  one-eyed  Kosher  hears  of  it." 

Zapp  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"All  right,  Louis,"  he  said;  "if  you  want  to  fix 
up  mutual  aid  societies  round  here  go  ahead  and  do 
so — only  one  thing  I  got  to  tell  you,  Louis:  you  should 
fix  it  up  that  some  one  else  as  Golnik  should  be  presi- 


206       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

dent,  understand  me,  because  a  designer  like  Golnik 
is  enough  stuck  on  himself  without  he  should  be 
president  of  a  mutual  aid  society.  Treasurer  is  good 
enough  for  him." 

Birsky  received  the  suggestion  with  a  satirical  smile. 

"You  got  a  real  head  for  business,  Zapp,  I  must 
say,"  he  said,  "when  you  are  going  to  make  a  feller 
like  Golnik  treasurer." 

"Well,  then,  we  could  make  Golnik  secretary, 
and  Kanef,  the  shipping  clerk,  treasurer,"  Zapp  sug 
gested.  "The  feller's  got  rich  relations  in  the  herring 
business." 

"I  don't  care  a  snap  if  the  feller's  relations  own 
all  the  herring  business  in  the  world,  Zapp,"  Birsky 
continued.  "This  afternoon  yet  we  would  go  to 
work  and  get  up  this  here  mutual  aid  society,  mil 
Jacob  Golnik  president  and  I.  Kanef  vice-president." 

"And  who  would  be  treasurer  then?"  Zapp  asked 
meekly;  whereat  Louis  Birsky  slapped  his  chest. 

"I  would  be  treasurer,"  he  announced;  "and  for 
a  twenty-dollar  bill  we  would  get  Henry  D.  Feldman 
he  should  fix  up  the  by-laws,  which  you  could  take 
it  from  me,  Zapp,  if  there's  any  honour  coming  to 
Golnik  after  me  and  Feldman  gets  through,  under 
stand  me,  the  feller  is  easy  flattered,  Zapp — and 
that's  all  I  got  to  say." 

It  was  not  until  after  five  o'clock  that  Birsky  re 
turned  from  Feldman's  office  with  the  typewritten 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  207 

constitution  and  by-laws  of  a  voluntary  association 
entitled  the  Mutual  Aid  Society  Employees  of  Birsky 
&  Zapp.  Moreover,  under  the  advice  of  counsel,  he 
had  transferred  from  the  firm's  balance  in  the  Kos- 
ciusko  Bank  the  sum  of  five  hundred  dollars  to  a  new 
account  denominated  L.  Birsky,  Treasurer;  and  the 
omission  of  the  conjunction  "as"  before  the  word 
"Treasurer"  was  all  that  prevented  the  funds  so 
deposited  from  becoming  the  property  of  the  mutual 
aid  society.  In  short,  everything  was  in  readiness 
for  the  reception  of  Jonas  Eschenbach  the  following 
morning  except  the  trifling  detail  of  notifying  Jacob 
Golnik  and  the  hundred  operators  that  their  mutual 
aid  society  had  come  into  being;  and  as  soon  as  Birsky 
had  removed  his  hat  and  coat  he  hastened  into  the 
cutting  room  and  beckoned  to  Golnik. 

"Golnik,"  he  said,  " kommen  Sie  mat  h'rein  for  a 
minute."  Golnik  looked  up  from  a  pile  of  cloth  and 
waved  his  hand  reassuringly. 

"It's  all  right,  Mr.  Birsky,"  he  said.  "I  thought 
the  matter  over  already;  and  you  and  your  partner 
is  right,  Mr.  Birsky.  This  here  mutual  aid  society  is 
nix,  Mr.  Birsky.  Why  should  I  take  from  my  salary 
a  dollar  a  week  for  five  weeks,  understand  me,  while  a 
lot  of  old  Schnorrers  like  them  pressers  in  there  is 
liable  to  die  on  us  any  minute,  y'understand,  and  right 
away  we  got  to  pay  out  a  death  benefit  for  forty  or 
fifty  dollars?" 

"What  are  you  talking  about  a  death  benefit?" 


208        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Birsky  exclaimed.  "Why  should  you  got  death  ben 
efits  in  a  mutual  aid  society?  A  mutual  aid  so 
ciety,  which  if  you  got  any  idee  about  the  English 
language  at  all,  Golnik,  means  a  society  which  the 
members  helps  each  other,  Golnik;  and  if  a  member 
goes  to  work  and  dies,  Golnik,  he  couldn't  help  no 
body  no  more.  In  a  mutual  aid  society,  Golnik,  if  a 
member  dies  he  is  dead,  understand  me,  and  all  he 
gets  out  is  what  he  puts  in  less  his  share  of  what  it 
costs  to  run  the  society." 

Golnik  laid  down  his  shears  and  gazed  earnestly 
at  his  employer. 

"I  never  thought  that  way  about  it  before,"  he  said ; 
"but,  anyhow,  Mr.  Birsky,  Gott  soil  hiiten  such  a  feller 
shouldn't  die  sudden,  understand  me,  then  we  got  to 
pay  him  a  sick  benefit  yet  five  dollars  a  week;  and  the 
least  such  a  Schlemiel  lingers  on  us  is  ten  weeks,  which 
you  could  see  for  yourself,  Mr.  Birsky,  where  do  I  get 
off?" 

"Well,  you  would  be  anyhow  president,  Golnik — 
ain't  it?"  Birsky  said. 

"Sure,  I  know,  Mr.  Birsky,"  Golnik  continued; 
"but  what  is  the  Kunst  a  feller  should  be  president, 
understand  me,  if  I  got  to  pay  every  week  my  good 
money  for  a  lot  of  operators  which  they  fress  from 
pickles  and  fish,  understand  me,  till  they  are  black  in 
the  face  mil  the  indigestion,  y'understand,  while  me  I 
never  got  so  much  as  a  headache  even?  So  I  guess 
you  are  right,  after  all,  Mr.  Birsky.  A  feller  which  he 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  209 

is  such  a  big  fool  that  he  joins  one  of  them  there 
mutual  aid  societies  deserves  he  should  get  fired  right 
out  of  here." 

" Aber,  Golnik,"  Birsky  protested,  "me  and  Zapp 
has  changed  our  minds  already  and  we  are  agreeable 
we  should  have  such  a  society,  which  you  would  be 
president  and  Kanef  vice-president." 

There  was  a  note  of  anxiety  in  Birsky 's  voice  that 
caused  Golnik  to  hesitate  before  replying,  and  he 
immediately  conjectured  that  Birsky's  reconsider 
ation  of  the  mutual  aid  society  plan  had  been  made 
on  grounds  not  entirely  altruistic. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "of  course  if  you  and  Mr. 
Zapp  is  changed  your  minds,  Mr.  Birsky,  I  couldn't 
kick;  aber,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  you  should 
please  leave  me  out  of  it." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  leave  you  out  of  it?"  Birsky 
cried.  "When  we  would  got  here  an  employees'  mu 
tual  aid  society,  Golnik,  who  would  be  president  from 
it  if  the  designer  wouldn't,  Golnik?" 

Golnik  gave  an  excellent  imitation  of  a  disinterested 
onlooker  as  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  reply. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Kanef,  Mr.  Birsky?"  he 
asked. 

"Kanef  is  a  shipping  clerk  only,  Golnik,"  Birsky 
replied;  "and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Golnik,  a 
shipping  clerk  is  got  so  much  influence  with  the 
operators  like  nothing  at  all.  Besides,  Golnik,  we 
already  got  your  name  in  as  president,  which,  if  we 


210       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

would  change  it  now,  right  away  we  are  out  twenty 
dollars  we  paid  Henry  D.  Feldman  this  afternoon  he 
should  draw  up  the  papers  for  us." 

"  So ! "  Golnik  exclaimed.  "  Feldman  draws  up  the 
papers!" 

"Sure  he  did,"  Birsky  said;  "which,  if  we  started 
this  thing,  Golnik,  we  want  to  do  it  right." 

Golnik  nodded. 

"And  he  would  do  it  right,  too,  Mr.  Birsky,"  he 
commented;  "which,  judging  from  the  contract  he  is 
drawing  up  between  you  and  me  last  December,  an 
elegant  chance  them  operators  is  got  in  such  a 
society." 

Birsky  patted  his  designer  confidentially  on  the 
shoulder. 

"What  do  you  care,  Golnik?"  he  said.  "You 
ain't  an  operator — and  besides,  Golnik,  I  couldn't 
stand  here  and  argue  with  you  all  night;  so  I  tell  you 
what  I  would  do,  Golnik:  come  in  this  here  society  as 
president  and  we  wouldn't  deduct  nothing  from  your 
wages  at  all,  and  you  would  be  a  member  in  good 
standing,  anyhow." 

Golnik  shook  his  head  slowly,  whereat  Birsky  con 
tinued  his  confidential  patting. 

"And  so  long  as  the  society  lasts,  Golnik,"  he  said, 
"we  ourselves  would  pay  you  two  dollars  a  week  to 
boot." 

"And  I  am  also  to  get  sick  benefits?"  Golnik 
asked. 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  211 

"You  would  get  just  so  much  sick  benefits  as  any 
body  else  in  the  society,"  Birsky  replied, "  because  you 
could  leave  that  point  to  me,  Golnik,  which  I  forgot  to 
told  you,  Golnik,  that  I  am  the  treasurer ;  so  you  should 
please  be  so  good  and  break  it  to  Bogin  and  Kanef 
and  the  operators.  We  want  to  get  through  with 
this  thing." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon,  therefore,  the 
business  premises  of  Birsky  &  Zapp  were  given  over  to 
speechmaking  on  the  part  of  Birsky  and  Golnik;  and 
when  at  the  conclusion  of  his  fervid  oration  Golnik 
exhibited  to  the  hundred  operators  the  passbook  of 
L.  Birsky,  Treasurer,  the  enthusiasm  it  evoked  lost 
nothing  by  the  omission  of  the  conjunctive  adverb 
"as."  Indeed,  resolutions  were  passed  and  spread 
upon  the  minutes  of  such  a  laudatory  character  that, 
until  the  arrival  of  Jonas  Eschenbach  the  following 
morning,  there  persisted  in  both  Birsky  and  Zapp  a 
genuine  glow  of  virtue. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Eschenbach?"  Louis 
cried,  as  Eschenbach  cuddled  his  hand  in  a  warm,  fat 
grasp.  "This  is  my  partner,  Mr.  Zapp." 

"Ain't  it  a  fine  weather?  "Barney  remarked  after  he 
had  undergone  the  handclasp  of  philanthropy. 

"I  bet  yer  it's  a  fine  weather,"  Eschenbach  said. 
"Such  a  fine  weather  is  important  for  people  which  is 
running  sick-benefit  societies." 

"Warum  sick-benefit  societies,  Mr.  Eschenbach?" 

"Well,"  Eschenbach  replied,  "I  take  it  that  in  a 


212        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

sick-benefit  society  the  health  of  the  members  is 
paramount." 

"Sure,  it  is,"  Barney  agreed.  "You  couldn't  ex 
pect  otherwise,  Mr.  Eschenbach,  from  the  Machshovos 
them  fellers  eats  for  their  lunch — herring  and  pickles 
mit  beer." 

"I  am  not  speaking  from  the  food  they  eat," 
Eschenbach  continued;  " aber,  in  bad  weather,  Mr. 
Zapp,  you  must  got  to  expect  that  a  certain  pro 
portion  of  your  members  would  be  laid  up  with  colds 
already." 

Zapp  waved  his  hand  carelessly. 

"For  that  matter,"  he  said,  "we  told  them  fellers 
the  sick-benefit  society  wouldn't  fall  for  no  colds  oder 
indigestion,  which  both  of  'em  comes  from  the  stum- 
mick." 

"Maybethat's  a  wise  plan,  Mr.  Zapp,"  Eschenbach 
continued;  "but  the  best  way  a  feller  should  keep 
himself  he  shouldn't  take  no  colds  oder  indigestion  is 
from  athaletics." 

"That's where  you  makeabig  mistake, Mr.  Eschen 
bach,"  said  Zapp,  who  had  served  an  apprenticeship 
in  the  underwear  business.  "Even  in  the  hottest 
weather  I  am  wearing  a  long-sleeve  undershirt  and 
regular  length  pants,  and  I  never  got  at  all  so  much  as 
a  little  Magensdure" 

"I  don't  doubt  your  word  for  a  minute,  Mr.  Zapp," 
Eschenbach  went  on;  "but  it  ain't  what  you  wear 
which  is  counting  so  much,  y'understand — it's  what 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  213 

you  do.  Now  you  take  them  operators  of  yours,  Mr. 
Zapp,  and  if  they  would  play  once  in  a  while  a  game  of 
baseball,  verstehst  du  mich — especially  this  time  of  the 
year,  Mr.  Zapp — their  health  improves  something 
wonderful." 

"Baseball!"  Birsky  exclaimed.  "And  when  do 
you  suppose  our  operators  gets  time  to  spiel  baseball, 
Mr.  Eschenbach?" 

"They  got  plenty  time,  Mr.  Birsky,"  Eschenbach 
replied.  "For  instance,  in  Adelstern's  shop,  Mr. 
Birsky,  every  lunch-hour  they  got  the  operators 
practising  on  the  roof;  while  on  Sundays  yet  they  play 
in  some  vacant  lots  which  Adelstern  gets  left  on  his 
hands  from  boom  times  already,  up  in  the  Bronix 
somewheres." 

"  Aber  we  got  stuck  mit  only  improved  property," 
Birsky  protested,  "on  Ammerman  Avenue,  a  five- 
story,  twelve-room  house  mit  stores,  which  we  bought 
from  Finkman  at  the  end  of  the  boom  times  already, 
and  which  we  couldn't  give  it  away  free  for  nothing 
even;  and  what  for  a  baseball  game  could  you  play  it 
on  the  roof  of  a  new-law  house  on  a  lot  thirty-three  by 
ninety-nine?" 

"Such  objection  is  nothing,  Mr.  Birsky,"  Eschen 
bach  rejoined,  "because  for  five  dollars  a  month  the 
landlord  here  lets  you  use  the  roof  lunch-hours;  and 
for  a  start  1  would  get  Adelstern  he  should  lend  you 
his  lots.  Later  you  could  get  others,  Mr.  Birsky, 
because  Mr,  Adelstern  ain't  the  only  one  which  gets 


2i4       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

stuck  from  boom  times  mit  Bronix  lots  already.  I 
bet  yer  there  is  hundreds  of  real-estate  speculators 
which  stands  willing  to  hire  vacant  lots  for  baseball 
Sundays,  and  they  wouldn't  charge  you  more  as  a 
couple  dollars,  neither." 

"Well,"  Birsky  said,  handing  his  visitor  a  cigar, 
"maybe  you  are  right,  Mr.  Eschenbach;  but,  anyhow, 
Mr.  Eschenbach,  we  got  here  an  elegant  line  of 
popular-price  goodswhich  I  should  like  for  you  to  give 
a  look  at." 

"I  got  plenty  time  to  look  at  your  line,  Mr. 
Birsky,"  Eschenbach  assured  him.  "I  would  be  in 
town  several  days  yet  already;  and  before  I  go,  Mr. 
Birsky,  I  would  like  to  see  it  if  Adelstern's  idees 
would  work  out  here." 

"  Aber  we  are  running  our  society  on  our  own  idees, 
Mr.  Eschenbach,"  Zapp  said. 

"Quite  right,  too,"  Eschenbach  agreed;  "but  I 
don't  mind  telling  you,  Mr.  Birsky,  that  Adelstern's 
baseball  team  is  originally  my  idee,  Mr.  Birsky — and 
if  you  don't  mind,  Mr.  Birsky,  I  would  like  to  look 
over  your  employees  and  see  if  I  couldn't  pick  out 
nine  good  men." 

"For  my  part,"  Birsky  said,  rising  to  his  feet,  "you 
could  pick  out  twenty,  Mr.  Eschenbach." 

Forthwith  they  proceeded  to  the  rear  of  the  loft, 
where  the  hundred  odd  members  of  the  mutual  aid 
society  were  engaged  in  the  manifold  employments  of 
a  cloak  and  suit  factory,  and  the  smiles  and  nods  with 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  215 

which  they  greeted  their  treasurer  rekindled  in  Birsky 
and  Zapp  the  glow  of  virtue  that  to  some  degree  had 
abated  at  Eschenbach's  refusal  to  examine  their 
sample  line. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  Birsky  said  proudly, 
"what  a  good  feeling  the  operators  has  for  us.  And 
you  wouldn't  believe  how  it  shows  in  the  work,  too, 
Mr.  Eschenbach.  Our  goods  is  elegant  made  up." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  Eschenbach  said.  "Which  of 
your  operators  do  you  consider  is  the  strongest,  Mr. 
Zapp?" 

"Well,"  Zapp  replied,  pointing  to  a  broad-shoul 
dered  giant  whose  long  black  beard  swept  his  torso  to 
the  waist,  "that  feller  over  there,  by  the  name  Tzvee 
Margoninsky,  is  strong  like  a  bull,  Mr.  Eschenbach. 
Last  week  he  moves  for  us  the  safe  from  the  show 
room  to  the  office  like  it  would  be  an  empty  packing- 
case  already." 

Eschenbach  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 

" Mit  one  arm  already,"  he  declared,  "a  feller 
could  better  play  baseball  as  mit  such  a  beard.  What 
we  must  got  to  do  is  to  pick  out  only  fellers  which 
looks  more  up  to  date." 

"Go  ahead  and  use  your  own  judgment,  Mr. 
Eschenbach,"  said  Birsky;  and  thereat  Jonas  Eschen 
bach  immediately  selected  three  long-armed  operators 
for  outfielders.  In  less  than  half  an  hour  he  had 
secured  the  remainder  of  the  team,  including  as 
pitcher  I.  Kanef,  the  shipping  clerk. 


2i 6       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"I  seen  worser  material,  Mr.  Birsky,"  Eschenbach 
said  after  he  had  returned  to  the  showroom;  "so,  if 
you  would  get  these  fellers  up  at  Adelstern's  lots  on 
Northeastern  Boulevard  and  Pelham  Parkway  on 
Sunday  morning  at  ten  o'clock,  Mr.  Birsky,  I'll  show 
'em  a  little  something  about  the  game,  understand 
me.  Then  on  Monday  morning  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  look  over  your  sample  line." 

" Aber,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  Birsky  cried,  "why  not 
look  at  it  now?" 

Eschenbach  smiled  enigmatically  as  he  clasped 
Birsky's  hand  in  farewell. 

"Because,  in  the  first  place,"  he  said,  "I  got  an  ap 
pointment  downtown,  Mr.  Birsky;  and,  in  the  second 
place,  lots  of  things  could  happen  before  Monday." 

"You  shouldn't  worry  yourself,  Mr.  Eschenbach," 
Birsky  protested,  "them  fellers  would  be  up  there 
all  right." 

"If  we  got  to  pay  'em  overtime  even,"  Zapp  added 
as  he  conducted  Eschenbach  into  the  elevator,  "union 


rates." 


When  Jonas  Eschenbach  arrived  at  Adelstern's 
vacant  lots  the  following  Sunday  morning  he  was 
more  than  delighted  with  the  size  and  enthusiasm  of 
the  gathering  that  awaited  him.  Practically  all  the 
members  of  Birsky  &  Zapp's  working  force  were 
assembled,  surging  and  gesticulating,  round  a  little 
group  composed  of  Birsky,  Zapp,  and  Golnik. 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  217 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  like,  Mr.  Eschenbach?" 
Birsky  exclaimed  as  the  philanthropist  elbowed  his 
way  through  the  crowd.  "The  feller  don't  know  the 
first  thing  about  the  game,  understand  me,  and  he 
kicks  yet  that  he  wants  to  be  pitcher!" 

Golnik  flapped  the  air  with  his  right  hand. 

"Never  mind  I  don't  know  nothing  about  the 
game!"  he  declared.  "Not  only  I  am  president  of 
the  society,  but  I  am  the  designer  in  your  place — 
ain't  it  ?  And  if  you  think  it's  bekovet  you  are  giving 
this  Aleer  to  Kanef,  which  he  is  only  a  shipping  clerk, 
understand  me,  I  think  differencely." 

"But  what  is  the  honour  about  being  a  pitcher?" 
Eschenbach  protested.  "There's  a  whole  lot  of 
pitchers  which  they  couldn't  sign  their  names 


even." 


"That's  all  right,  too,"  Golnik  declared.  "  Might 
I  don't  know  nothing  about  this  here  baseball,  Mr. 
Eschenbach,  but  I  could  read  in  the  papers,  under 
stand  me;  and  an  up-to-date,  high-grade  pitcher  is 
getting  his  ten  thousand  a  year  yet." 

" Schmooes,  ten  thousand  a  year!"  exclaimed 
Eschenbach.  "What  does  a  pitcher  amount  to  any 
way?  Supposing  a  pitcher  gets  fresh  with  the 
umpire,  verstehst  du  mich,  and  the  umpire  orders  the 
pitcher  he  should  get  off  the  field,  y 'understand — he 
dassent  give  him  no  back  talk  nor  nothing.  He 
must  got  to  go,  verstehst  du,  because  in  baseball  the 
pitcher  is  nothing  and  the  umpire  everything." 


2i 8       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Umpire?"  Golnik  replied.  "What  is  that — an 
umpire  ? " 

"The  umpire  is  a  kind  of  a  foreman,"  Eschenbach 
continued,  "only  bigger  yet — which  if  you  would  be 
umpire,  that's  an  honour;  dber  a  pitcher  is  nothing." 

Here  he  winked  furtively  at  Louis  Birsky. 

"And  I  says  to  Mr.  Birsky  only  the  other  day,"  he 
went  on,  "I  says,  'We  must  make  the  designer  the 
umpire/  I  says;  'because  such  an  Aleer  really  belongs 
to  the  designer.'  Aber  if  you  are  so  stuck  on  being 
pitcher,  understand  me,  we  would  make  you  the 
pitcher,  and  the  shipping  clerk  will  be  the  umpire." 

Golnik  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  don't  make  no  difference  to  me  one  way  or  the 
other,"  he  said;  "so  I  am  content  I  should  be  the 
umpire." 

" Schon  gut!"  Eschenbach  cried  as  he  laid  down  a 
heavy  valise  he  had  brought  with  him.  "And  now, 
boys,  let's  get  busy." 

He  opened  the  valise  and  produced  a  catcher's 
mask  and  mitt,  a  bat,  and  three  balls. 

"Here,  you!"  he  said,  throwing  one  of  the  balls  to 
Kanef. 

During  the  discussion  with  Golnik,  Kanef  had 
maintained  the  bent  and  submissive  attitude  becom 
ing  in  a  shipping  clerk  toward  his  superior;  but  when 
Eschenbach  flung  the  ball  at  him  he  straightened 
up  immediately  and,  to  the  surprise  and  delight  of  the 
philanthropist,  he  caught  it  readily  with  one  hand. 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  219 

"Well,  well ! "  Eschenbach  exclaimed.  " I  see  you 
played  ball  already." 

"Used  to  was  shortstop  with  the  Scammel  Field 
Club,"  Kanef  murmured.  "We  was  champeens  of 
the  Eighth  Ward." 

"  Good ! "  Eschenbach  cried.  "  Might  we  would  got 
another  ballplayer  here?" 

"Sure,"  Kanef  replied,  pointing  to  a  short,  thick 
set  presser  who  stood  grinning  among  the  spectators. 
"That  feller  there,  by  the  name  Max  Croplin,  he 
plays  second  base  already." 

"You  don't  say  so!"  Eschenbach  ^exclaimed. 
"Well,  supposing  Max  Croplin  catches  and  you  pitch, 
understand  me,  and  I  would  go  on  the  bat  and  give 
them  fellers  here  a  sample  play  already." 

He  threw  the  mask  and  mitt  to  Croplin,  who  pro 
ceeded  to  put  them  on  amid  the  murmured  plaudits 
of  his  fellow  workmen,  while  Eschenbach  seized  the 
bat  and  planted  himself  firmly  over  the  home  plate. 
Meantime,  Kanef  proceeded  to  the  pitcher's  box  and, 
wiping  his  right  hand  in  the  dirt,  he  struck  a  pro 
fessional  attitude  that  made  Eschenbach  fairly  beam 
with  delight. 

"Play  ball!"  the  philanthropist  yelled,  and  Kanef 
swung  his  arm  in  the  regular  approved  style. 

The  next  moment  the  ball  flew  from  his  hand  and, 
describing  an  outcurve,  grazed  the  tangent  point  of 
Eschenbach's  waist-line  into  the  outstretched  palm 
of  Max  Croplin. 


220       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

" Strike  one ! "  Eschenbach  shouted.  "You  should 
please  remember  this  is  a  sample  play  only,  and 
'tain't  necessary  you  should  send  'em  so  fast." 

Kanef  nodded,  while  Croplin  returned  the  ball;  and 
this  time  Eschenbach  poised  himself  to  knock  a 
heaven-kissing  fly. 

"Play  ball!"  he  cried  again,  and  once  more  Kanef 
executed  a  pirouette  on  the  mound  preparatory 
to  pitching  the  ball.  Simultaneously  Eschenbach 
stepped  back  one  pace  and  fanned  the  air  just  as  the 
oncoming  ball  took  a  sudden  drop.  A  moment  later 
it  landed  squarely  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  and  with 
a  smothered  "Woof!"  he  sank  to  the  ground. 

"Oo-ee!"  wailed  the  hundred  operators  with  one 
breath,  while  Birsky  and  Zapp  ran  wildly  toward  the 
home  plate. 

"Mr.  Eschenbach,"  Birsky  exclaimed,  "um  Gottes 
willenl  What  did  that  loafer  done  to  you?" 

"It's  all  right,"  Eschenbach  gasped,  struggling  to 
his  feet.  "I  ain't  hurted  none,  and  in  a  regular  game 
I  would  take  my  first  base  already." 

"Well,  take  it  here,"  Birsky  said.  "Don't  mind 
us,  Mr.  Eschenbach — or  maybe  you  ain't  got  none 
mit  you." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  hip  pocket  and  drew  out  a 
pocket  flask,  which  Eschenbach,  however,  waved 
away. 

"That's  expressly  something  which  a  ballplayer 
must  never  got  to  touch  during  a  game,"  Eschenbach 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  221 

cried  as  he  dusted  off  his  trousers  with  his  handker 
chief  and  once  more  seized  the  bat.  "Now,  then,  Mr. 
Pitcher,"  he  cried,  "send  me  a  real  slow  one  straight 
over  the  plate." 

Birsky  and  Zapp  returned  to  the  edge  of  the  lot, 
scowling  savagely  at  Kanef,  who  was  once  more  en 
gaged  in  wiping  his  hands  in  the  dust.  This  time, 
however,  he  executed  no  preliminary  dance  steps,  and 
Eschenbach  swung  his  bat  to  such  good  purpose  that 
the  ball  went  sailing  between  the  first  and  second 
bases  at  the  height  of  a  short  man's  shoulder — or, 
to  be  exact,  at  the  height  of  Jacob  Golnik's  right 
shoulder,  from  which  it  rebounded  into  the  left  eye  of 
Joseph  Bogin,  the  shop  foreman. 

Amid  the  scene  of  confusion  that  ensued  only  Jonas 
Eschenbach  remained  calm. 

"As  clean  a  hit  as  ever  I  see!"  he  cried  proudly,  and 
strolled  off  toward  the  excited  mob  that  surrounded 
Golnik  and  Bogin,  both  of  whom  were  shrieking  with 
fright  and  pain. 

"  D'ye  think  they're  hurted  bad,  Mr.  Eschenbach  ?" 
Zapp  inquired  anxiously. 

"  Schmooes — hurt  bad!"  Eschenbach  retorted. 
"Why  should  a  little  thing  like  that  hurt  'em  bad?" 

He  was  still  intoxicated  with  the  triumph  of  making 
what  would  have  been  a  home  run  in  a  regular  game, 
and  his  face  bore  a  pleased  smile  as  he  turned  to 
Birsky. 

"I  says  to  myself  when  I  seen  that  ball  coming," 


222       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

he  continued,  "I  would  put  that  right  between  first 
and  second  bases,  about  where  that  short  and  that 
big  feller  is  standing — and  that's  exactly  what  hap 
pened." 

Birsky  stared  at  his  prospective  customer  in 
shocked  surprise. 

"Then  you  done  it  on  purpose!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Certainly  I  done  it  on  purpose,"  declared  Eschen- 
bach.  "What  do  you  think  it  was — an  accident  ?" 

He  swung  his  bat  at  a  pebble  that  lay  in  his  path 
and  Birsky  and  Zapp  edged  away. 

"Well,  if  I  was  you,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  Birsky 
said,  "I  wouldn't  say  nothing  more  about  it  to  no 
body.  Even  if  you  would  meant  it  as  a  joke,  under 
stand  me,  sometimes  them  things  turns  out  serious." 
With  this  dictum  he  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
sympathetic  crowd  that  hemmed  in  the  victims. 
"Koosh,  Golnik!"  he  bellowed.  "You  might  think 
you  was  injured  for  life  the  way  you  are  carrying  on." 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Birsky,"  Golnik  whimpered, 
"I  am  hurted  bad  enough.  If  I  would  be  able  to 
handle  a  pair  of  shears  in  six  weeks  already  I'm  a 
lucky  man."  He  heaved  a  tremulous  sigh  and  nodded 
his  head  slowly.  "Little  did  I  think,"  he  wailed, 
"when  I  fixed  up  this  here  mutual  aid  society  that  I 
would  be  the  first  one  to  get  the  sick  benefit." 

Joseph  Bogin  ceased  his  agonizing  rocking  and 
turned  fiercely  to  Golnik. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  the  first  one?"  he  demanded. 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  223 

"Ain't  I  in  on  the  sick  benefit  also  ?  Not  alone  would 
I  draw  a  sick  benefit,  Golnik,  but  might  I  would  come 
in  for  the  losing-one-eye  benefit,  maybe,  the  way  I  am 
feeling  now." 

"You  would  what?"  Birsky  shouted.  "You  would 
come  in  for  nothing,  Bogin!  All  you  would  come 
in  for  is  losing  your  job,  Bogin,  if  you  don't  be  care 
ful  what  you  are  saying  round  here." 

At  this  juncture  Jonas  Eschenbach  bustled  toward 
them  and  clapped  his  hands  loudly. 

"Now,  then,  boys,"  he  called,  "the  whole  team 
should  please  get  out  on  the  field." 

He  pointed  to  a  tall,  simian-armed  operator  who 
stood  listening  intently  to  the  conversation  between 
Golnik  and  Birsky. 

"You,  there,"  Jonas  said  to  him,  "you  would  play 
right  field — and  get  a  move  on!" 

The  operator  nodded  solemnly  and  flipped  his 
fingers  in  a  deprecatory  gesture. 

"It  don't  go  so  quick,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  he  said, 
"because,  speaking  for  myself  and  these  other  fellers 
here,  Mr.  Eschenbach,  I  would  like  to  ask  Mr.  Birsky 
something  a  question." 

He  paused  impressively,  and  even  Golnik  ceased 
his  moaning  as  the  remaining  members  of  the  base 
ball  team  gathered  round  their  spokesman. 

"I  would  like  to  ask,"  the  operator  continued, 
"supposing  Gott  soil  hiiten  I  am  getting  also  Makkas 
in  this  here  baseball,  Mr.  Birsky,  which  I  would  be 


224       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

losing  time  from  the  shop,  Mr.  Birsky,  what  for  a 
sick  benefit  do  I  draw?" 

Birsky  grew  livid  with  indignation. 

"What  for  a  sick  benefit  do  you  draw?"  he 
sputtered.  "A  question!  You  don't  draw  nothing 
for  a  sick  benefit."  He  appealed  to  Eschenbach, 
who  stood  close  by.  "An  idee,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  he 
said.  "Did  y'ever  hear  the  like  we  should  pay  a 
sick  benefit  because  some  one  gets  hurted  spieling 
from  baseball  already?  The  first  thing  you  know,  Mr. 
Eschenbach,  we  would  be  called  upon  we  should  pay 
a  benefit  that  a  feller  breaks  his  fingers  leading  two 
aces  and  the  ten  of  trumps,  or  melding  a  round  trip 
and  a  hundred  aces,  understand  me;  because,  if  a 
feller  behaves  like  a  loafer,  y'understand,  he  could 
injure  himself  just  so  much  in  pinochle  as  in  baseball." 

"  Schon  guty  Mr.  Birsky,"  the  operator  continued 
amid  the  approving  murmurs  of  his  fellow  players, 
"that's  all  I  want  to  know." 

As  they  moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  West 
Farms  subway  station,  Golnik's  resentment,  which 
for  the  time  had  rendered  him  speechless,  gave  way  to 
profanity. 

"So,"  he  cried,  choking  with  indignation,  "I  was 
acting  like  a  loafer,  was  I?  And  that's  how  I  got 
hurted!" 

Here  he  contorted  his  face  and  clapped  his  hand  to 
his  injured  shoulder  in  response  to  a  slight  twinge  of 
pain;  and  for  at  least  two  minutes  he  closed  his  eyes 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  225 

and  gasped  heavily  in  a  manner  that  suggested  the 
agonies  of  death  by  the  rack  and  thumbscrews. 

"You  will  hear  from  me  later,  gentlemen,"  he  said 
at  last,  "and  from  Bogin  also,  which  we  wouldn't 
take  no  part  of  your  sick  benefit." 

He  fell  back  exhausted  against  the  outstretched 
arm  of  a  bearded  operator;  and  thus  supported,  he 
seized  Bogin's  elbow  and  started  to  leave  the  lot,  with 
the  halting  steps  of  Nathan  the  Wise  in  the  last  act  of 
that  sterling  drama,  as  performed  by  the  principal 
tragedian  of  the  Canal  Street  Theatre. 

"And  you  would  see,  Mr.  Birsky,"  he  concluded, 
"that  we  got  plenty  witnesses,  which  if  we  wouldn't 
get  from  you  and  Mr.  Eschenbach  at  the  very  least 
two  thousand  dollars,  understand  me,  there  ain't  no 
lawyers  worth  the  name  in  this  city!" 

Three  minutes  later  there  remained  in  Adelstern's 
lot  only  two  of  Birsky  &  Zapp's  employees — namely, 
the  pitcher  and  the  catcher  of  Eschenbach's  team; 
and  they  were  snapping  the  ball  back  and  forth  in  a 
manner  that  caused  Eschenbach's  eyes  to  gleam  with 
admiration. 

"Nu,  Mr.  Eschenbach,"  Birsky  croaked  at  last,  "I 
guess  we  are  up  against  it  for  fair,  because  not  only 
we  would  lose  our  designer  and  shop  foreman,  y'under- 
stand,  but  them  fellers  would  sue  us  sure." 

Eschenbach  waved  his  hands  airily. 

"My  worries!"  he  said.  "We  would  talk  all  about 
that  to-morrow  afternoon  in  your  store." 


226       THE   COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Again  he  seized  the  bat  and  swung  it  at  a  pebble. 

"But,  anyhow,"  he  concluded,  "there's  still  five  of 
us  left,  Mr.  Birsky;  so  you  and  Zapp  get  out  on  right 
and  left  field  and  we'll  see  what  we  can  do." 

He  crossed  over  to  the  home  plate  and  pounded  the 
earth  with  the  end  of  his  bat. 

"All  right,  boys,"  he  called.     "Play  ball!" 

Louis  Birsky  limped  wearily  from  the  cutting  room, 
where  he  had  been  busy  since  seven  o'clock  exercising 
the  functions  of  his  absent  designer. 

"Oo-ee!"  he  exclaimed  as  he  reached  the  firm's 
office.  "I  am  stiff  like  I  would  got  the  rheumatism 
already." 

Barney  Zapp  sat  at  his  desk,  with  a  pile  of  newly 
opened  mail  in  front  of  him,  and  he  scowled  darkly  at 
his  partner,  who  sank  groaning  into  the  nearest  chair. 

"I  give  you  my  word,  Barney,"  Birsky  went  on, 
"if  that  old  Rosher  would  of  kept  us  a  minute  longer 
throwing  that  verfliichte  Bobky  round,  understand  me 
— never  mind  he  wouldn't  come  in  here  and  buy  a  big 
order  from  us  this  morning — I  would  of  wrung  his 
neck  for  him.  What  does  he  think  we  are,  anyway — 
children?" 

Zapp  only  grunted  in  reply.  He  was  nursing  a 
badly  strained  wrist  as  the  result  of  two  hours'  field 
ing  for  Jonas  Eschenbach;  and  thus  handicapped  he 
had  been  performing  the  duties  of  Joseph  Bogin,  the 
shop  foreman,  who  only  that  morning  had  sent  by  his 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  227 

wife  a  formal  note  addressed  to  Birsky  &  Zapp.  It 
had  been  written  under  the  advice  of  counsel  and 
it  announced  Bogin's  inability  to  come  to  work  by 
reason  of  injuries  received  through  the  agency  of 
Birsky  &  Zapp,  and  concluded  with  the  notice  that 
an  indemnity  was  claimed  from  the  funds  of  the 
mutual  aid  society,  "without  waiving  any  other  pro 
ceedings  that  the  said  Joseph  Bogin  might  deem 
necessary  to  protect  his  interests  in  the  matter." 

" Nu,  Zapp,"  Birsky  said  after  Zapp  had  shown 
him  Bogin's  note,  "you  couldn't  prevent  a  crook  like 
Bogin  suing  you  if  he  wants  to,  understand  me;  and 
I  bet  yer  when  Eschenbach  comes  in  here  this  after 
noon  he  would  buy  from  us  such  a  bill  of  goods  that 
Bogin's  and  Golnik's  claims  wouldn't  be  a  bucket  of 
water  in  the  ocean." 

For  answer  to  this  optimistic  prophecy  Zapp 
emitted  a  short  and  mirthless  laugh,  while  he  handed 
to  his  partner  another  letter,  which  read  as  follows: 

HOTEL  PRINCE  CLARENCE, — Sunday  night. 
FRIEND  BIRSKY:  As  I  told  you  Saturday,  lots  of  things 
might  happen  before  Monday,  which  they  did  happen; 
so  that  I  cannot  look  over  your  sample  line  on  account 
I  am  obliged  to  leave  for  Cordova  right  away.  Please 
excuse  me;  and,  with  best  wishes  for  the  success  of  your 
society,  I  am  Yours  truly, 

JONAS  ESCHENBACH. 

P.S.     I  will  be  back  in  New  York  a  free  man  not  later 


228       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

than  next  week  at  the  latest,  and  the  first  thing  I  will  call 
at  your  place.  We  will  talk  over  then  the  society  and 
what  happens  with  your  designer  yesterday,  which  I  do 
not  anticipate  he  will  make  you  any  trouble — and  the 
other  man,  neither.  J.  E. 

"Well,"  Birsky  commented  as  he  returned  the  let 
ter  to  Zapp,  "what  of  it  ? " 

"What  of  it ! "  Zapp  exclaimed.  "You  are  reading 
such  a  letter  and  you  ask  me  what  of  it  ? " 

"Sure,"  Birsky  replied;  "I  says  what  of  it  and  I 
mean  what  of  it!  Is  it  such  a  terrible  thing  if  we 
got  to  wait  till  next  week  before  Eschenbach  gives 
us  the  order,  Zapp?" 

"If  he  gives  us  the  order  next  week!"  Zapp  re 
torted,  "because,  from  the  way  he  says  nothing 
about  giving  us  an  order  oder  looking  over  our  sample 
line,  Birsky,  I  got  my  doubts." 

" Schmooes,  you  got  your  doubts!"  Birsky  cried. 

"The  feller  says  as  plain  as  daylight "  Here  he 

seized  the  letter  to  refresh  his  memory.  "He  says," 
Birsky  continued :  "  T.  S.  I  will  be  back  in  New  York 
a  free  man  not  later  than  next  week  at  the  latest,  and 
the  first  thing  I  will  call  at  your  place/  Ain't  that 
enough  for  you  ? " 

Zapp  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  non-committal 
fashion. 

"I  would  wait  till  next  week  first,"  he  said,  "be 
fore  I  would  congratulate  myself  on  that  order." 

Birsky  rose  painfully  to  his  feet. 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  229 

"You  could  do  as  you  like,  Zapp,"  he  said,  "but 
for  me  I  ain't  worrying  about  things  not  happening 
until  they  don't,  Zapp;  so,  if  any  one  wants  me  for 
anything  I  would  be  over  in  Hammersmith's  for  the 
next  half-hour/' 

Ten  minutes  later  he  sat  at  his  favourite  table  in 
Hammersmith's  cafe;  and,  pending  the  arrival  of  an 
order  which  included  Kreploch  soup  and  some  einge- 
ddmpftes  Kalbfleisch,  he  gazed  about  him  at  the  lunch- 
hour  crowd.  Nor  was  his  appetite  diminished  by 
the  spectacle  of  H.  Dexter  Adelstern  and  Finkman 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation  at  an  adjoining 
table,  and  he  could  not  forbear  a  triumphant  smile 
as  he  attacked  his  plate  of  soup.  He  had  barely 
swallowed  the  first  spoonful,  however,  when  Adelstern 
and  Finkman  caught  sight  of  him  and  they  immedi 
ately  rose  from  their  seats  and  came  over  to  his  table. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Birsky?"  Adelstern 
cried.  "I  hear  you  had  a  great  game  of  baseball 
yesterday." 

Birsky  nodded  almost  proudly. 

"You  hear  correct,"  he  said.  "Our  mutual  aid 
society  must  got  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Adelstern,  for 
the  use  of  your  Bronix  lots." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  Adelstern  replied;  "in  fact, 
you  are  welcome  to  use  'em  whenever  you  want  to, 
Mr.  Birsky." 

He  winked  furtively  at  Finkman,  who  forthwith 
broke  into  the  conversation. 


23o       THE   COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Might  he  would  buy  'em  from  you,  maybe,  Adel- 
stern,"  he  suggested,  "and  add  'em  to  his  other  hold 
ings  on  Ammerman  Avenue!" 

Birsky  felt  that  he  could  afford  to  laugh  at  this 
sally  of  Finkman's,  and  he  did  so  rather  mirthlessly. 

"Why  don't  you  buy  'em,  Finkman?"  he  suggested. 
"From  the  way  you  are  talking  here  the  other  day 
to  Mr.  Eschenbach,  you  would  need  'em  for  your 
mutual  aid  society  which  you  are  making  a  bluff  at 
getting  up." 

"I  ain't  making  no  bluffs  at  nothing,  Birsky," 
Finkman  replied,  "because,  Gott  sei  dank,  I  don't 
got  to  steal  other  people's  idees  to  get  business." 

"Do  you  think  I  am  stealing  Adelstern's  idee  of 
this  here  mutual  aid  society,  Finkman?"  Birsky  de 
manded,  abandoning  his  soup  and  glaring  at  his  com 
petitor. 

"We  don't  think  nothing,  Birsky,"  Adelstern  said; 
"because,  whether  you  stole  it  oder  you  didn't  stole 
it,  Birsky,  you  are  welcome  to  it.  And  if  you  would 
send  round  to  my  place  this  afternoon  yet  I  would 
give  you,  free  for  nothing,  a  lot  of  bats  and  balls  and 
other  Bobkies  just  so  good  as  new,  which  I  ain't  got 
no  use  for  no  more." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  you  ain't  got  no  use  for  'em?" 
Birsky  demanded.  He  began  to  feel  a  sense  of  un 
easiness  that  made  nauseating  the'  idea  of  einge- 
ddmpftes  Kalbfleisch. 

"Why,  I  mean  I  am  giving  up  my  mutual  aid 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  231 

society,"  Adelstern  replied.  "It's  taking  up  too 
much  of  my  time — especially  now,  Mr.  Birsky,  when 
Eschenbach  could  hang  round  my  place  all  he  wants 
to,  understand  me;  he  wouldn't  give  me  no  peace  at 
all." 

For  a  brief  interval  Birsky  stared  blankly  at 
Adelstern. 

"Especially  now!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  are  you 
talking  about,  especially  now?" 

"Why,  ain't  you  heard?"  Adelstern  asked  in 
feigned  surprise. 

"I  ain't  heard  nothing,"  Birsky  said  hoarsely. 

"Do  you  mean  to  told  me,"  Finkman  interrupted, 
"that  you  ain't  heard  it  yet  about  Eschenbach  ? " 

"I  ain't  heard  nothing  about  Eschenbach,"  Birsky 
rejoined. 

"Then  read  this,"  Finkman  said,  thrusting  a 
marked  copy  of  the  Daily  Cloak  and  Suit  Review 
under  Birsky 's  nose;  and  ringed  in  blue  pencil  was 
the  following  item : 

CORDOVA,  OHIO — Jonas  Eschenbach  to  Retire.  Jonas 
Eschenbach's  department  store  is  soon  to  pass  into  new 
hands,  and  Mr.  Eschenbach  will  take  up  his  future  resi 
dence  in  the  city  of  New  York.  Negotiations  for  the  pur 
chase  of  his  business,  which  have  been  pending  for  some 
time,  were  closed  Saturday,  and  Mr.  Eschenbach  has  been 
summoned  from  New  York,  where  he  has  been  staying 
for  the  last  few  days,  to  conclude  the  details  of  the  trans 
action.  The  purchaser's  name  has  not  yet  been  disclosed. 


232       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

As  Louis  laid  down  the  paper  he  beckoned  to  the 
waiter.  "Never  mind  that  Kalbfleisch"  he  croaked. 
"  Bring  me  only  a  tongue  sandwich  and  a  cup  coffee. 
I  got  to  get  right  back  to  my  store." 

By  a  quarter  to  six  that  afternoon  the  atmosphere 
of  Birsky  &  Zapp's  office  had  been  sufficiently  cleared 
to  permit  a  relatively  calm  discussion  of  Eschen- 
bach's  perfidy. 

"That's  a  Rosher  for  you — that  Eschenbach!" 
Birsky  exclaimed  for  the  hundredth  time.  "And 
mind  you,  right  the  way  through,  that  crook  knew 
he  wasn't  going  to  give  us  no  orders  yet ! 

"But,"  he  cried,  "we  got  the  crook  dead  to  rights!" 

"What  d'ye  mean,  we  got  him  dead  to  rights?" 
Zapp  inquired  listlessly. 

"Don't  you  remember,"  Birsky  went  on,  "when 
he  hits  the  Schlag  there  yesterday,  which  injured 
Golnik  and  Bogin,  he  says  to  us  he  seen  it  all  the 
time  where  they  was  standing  and  he  was  meaning 
to  hit  'em  with  the  ball  ? " 

Zapp  nodded. 

"And  don't  you  remember,"  Birsky  continued, 
"I  says  to  him  did  he  done  it  on  purpose,  and  he  said 
sure  he  did?" 

Zapp  nodded  again  and  his  listlessness  began  to 
disappear. 

"Certainly,  I  remember,"  he  said  excitedly,  "and 
he  also  says  to  us  we  shouldn't  think  it  was  an  acci 
dent  at  all." 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  233 

Birsky  jumped  to  his  feet  to  summon  the  stenog 
rapher. 

"Then  what's  the  use  talking?"  he  cried.  "We 
would  right  away  write  a  letter  to  Golnik  and  Bogin 
they  should  come  down  here  to-morrow  and  we  will 
help  'em  out." 

"  Aber  don't  you  think,  if  we  would  say  we  would 
help  'em  out,  understand  me,  they  would  go  to  work 
and  get  an  idee  maybe  we  are  going  to  pay  'em  a  sick 
benefit  yet?" 

"Sick  benefit  nothing!"  Birsky  said.  "With  the 
sick  benefit  we  are  through  already;  and  if  it  wouldn't 
be  that  the  bank  is  closed,  understand  me,  I  would 
right  away  go  over  to  the  Kosciusko  Bank  and  transfer 
back  that  five  hundred  dollars,  which  I  wouldn't  take 
no  chances,  even  if  Feldman  did  say  that  without 
the  'as'  the  'Treasurer'  don't  go  at  all." 

"Do  it  to-morrow  morning  first  thing,"  Zapp  ad 
vised;  "and  write  Golnik  and  Bogin  they  should  come 
down  here  at  eleven  o'clock,  y'understand;  so  that 
when  they  get  here,  understand  me,  we  could  show 'em, 
if  they  are  going  to  make  a  claim  against  the  mutual 
aid  society,  Birsky,  they  'are  up  against  it  for  fair." 

When  the  two  partners  arrived  at  their  place  of 
business  the  following  morning  at  eight  o'clock,  how 
ever,  their  plans  for  the  dissolution  of  the  mutual  aid 
society  were  temporarily  forgotten  when,  upon  en 
tering  their  office,  they  discerned  the  bulky  figure 
of  Henry  Feigenbaum  seated  in  Birsky's  armchair. 


234       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Honestly,  boys,"  Feigenbaum  said  as  he  bit  off 
the  end  of  a  cigar,  "  the  way  you  are  keeping  me  wait 
ing  here,  understand  me,  it  would  of  served  you  right 
if  I  would  of  gone  right  over  to  Adelstern's  and  give 
him  the  order  instead  of  you,  y'understand;  dber  the 
way  Adelstern  treats  Jonas  Eschenbach,  understand 
me,  I  would  rather  die  as  buy  a  dollar's  worth  of 
goods  from  that  Rosher." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  the  way  Adelstern  treats  Es 
chenbach?"  Birsky  asked. 

"Why,  just  so  soon  as  Eschenbach  tells  him  he  is 
going  to  sell  out,"  Feigenbaum  continued,  "Adel 
stern  right  away  disbands  his  mutual  aid  society; 
and  he  also  just  so  good  as  tells  Eschenbach  to  his 
face,  y'understand,  that  all  this  baseball  business 
was  a  waste  of  time,  understand  me,  and  he  only 
done  it  to  get  orders  from  Eschenbach!  And  a  man 
like  Eschenbach,  which  he  is  a  philanthropist  and 
a  gentleman,  understand  me,  takes  the  trouble  he 
should  give  Adelstern  pointers  about  this  here  mutual 
aid  society,  which  they  are  a  blessing  to  both  em 
ployers  and  employees,  verstehst  du  mich,  all  I  could 
say  is  that  Adelstern  acts  like  a  loafer  in  throwing  the 
whole  thing  up  just  because  Eschenbach  quits!" 

"4ber,  Mr.  Feigenbaum,"  Birsky  said,  while  a 
puzzled  expression  came  over  his  face,  "I  thought 
you  said  when  you  was  here  last  time  that  Eschen 
bach  goes  too  far  in  such  things." 

"When  I  was  here  last,"  Feigenbaum  replied,  "was 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  235 

something  else  again;  but  when  I  left  here  Friday, 
understand  me,  right  up  till  the  last  minute  Eschen- 
bach  says  no,  he  wouldn't  let  twenty  thousand  of  the 
purchase  price  remain  on  a  real-estate  mortgage  of 
the  store  property.  When  I  got  to  Cordova  Satur 
day  morning  my  lawyers  there  says  that  Eschenbach 
stood  ready  to  close  the  deal  on  them  terms,  y'under- 
stand,  provided  I  would  let  the  old  man  look  after 
our  store's  employees'  association,  which  I  certainly 
agreed  to;  and  so  I  bought  his  business  there  and 
then,  and  I  must  got  to  buy  at  least  five  thousand 
dollars  goods  before  Wednesday  morning  for  ship 
ment  by  ten  days  already." 

"You  bought  Eschenbach's  store!"  Zapp  ex 
claimed. 

Feigenbaum  wriggled  in  Birsky's  chair,  which  fitted 
him  like  a  glove;  and  after  he  had  freed  himself  he 
rose  ponderously. 

" Aber  one  moment,  Mr.  Feigenbaum,"  Birsky 
pleaded.  "  Did  I  understood  you  to  say  that  Eschen 
bach  is  to  look  after  the  mutual  aid  society  in  your 
store?" 

"I  hope  you  ain't  getting  deef,  Birsky,"  Feigen 
baum  replied. 

"And  you  agreed  to  that?"  Zapp  cried. 

"I  certainly  did,"  Feigenbaum  said;  "which,  as 
I  told  you  before,  I  am  coming  to  believe  that  this 
here  mutual  aid  society  business  is  an  elegant  thing 
already,  boys.  And  Eschenbach  tells  me  I  should 


236        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

tell  you  that  if  he  don't  get  here  by  next  Sunday  you 
should  warm  up  that  pitcher  and  catcher  of  yours, 
as  he  would  sure  get  down  to  New  York  by  the  Sun 
day  after." 

Birsky  led  the  way  to  the  showroom  with  the  de 
tached  air  of  a  somnambulist,  while  Zapp  came  stum 
bling  after. 

"And  one  thing  I  want  to  impress  on  you  boys," 
Feigenbaum  concluded:  "you  want  to  do  all  you  can 
to  jolly  the  old  boy  along,  understand  me,  on  account 
I  might  want  to  raise  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  dollars 
from  him  for  some  alterations  I  got  in  mind." 


"Zapp,"  Birsky  cried  after  he  had  ushered  Feigen 
baum  into  the  elevator  at  ten  minutes  to  eleven,  "I 
am  going  right  over  to  the  Kosciusko  Bank  and " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Zapp  cried  in  alarm, 
"transfer  back  that  five  hundred  dollars  after  what 
Feigenbaum  tells  us  ? " 

"Transfer  nothing!"  Birsky  retorted.  "I  am 
going  over  to  the  Kosciusko  Bank,  understand  me, 
and  I  am  going  to  change  that  account.  So,  when 
them  Roshoyim  come  in  here,  Zapp,  tell  'em  to  wait 
till  I  get  back.  By  hook  or  by  crook  we  must  got  to 
get  'em  to  come  to  work  by  to-morrow  sure,  the  way 
we  would  be  rushed  here — even  if  we  must  pay  'em 
a  hundred  dollars  apiece!" 

Zapp  nodded  fervently. 


BIRSKY  &  ZAPP  237 

"Aber  why  must  you  got  to  go  over  to  the  bank 
now,  Birsky?"  he  insisted. 

"Because  I  don't  want  to  take  no  more  chances," 
Birsky  replied;  "which  I  would  not  only  put  in  the 
'as/  understand  me,  but  I  would  write  on  the  bank's 
signature  card  straight  up  and  down  what  the  thing 
really  is" — he  coughed  impressively  to  emphasize 
the  announcement — "Louis  Birsky,"  he  said,  "as 
Treasurer  of  the  Mutual  Aid  Society  Employees  of 
Birsky  &Zapp!" 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 
THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES 

WHEN  Max  Schindelberger  opened  the  door 
leading  into  the  office  of  Lesengeld  &  Belz 
his  manner  was  that  of  the  local  million 
aire's  wife  bearing  delicacies  to  a  bedridden  laundress, 
for  Max  felt  that  he  was  slumming. 

"Is  Mr.  Lesengeld  disengaged?"  he  asked  in  the 
rotund  voice  of  one  accustomed  to  being  addressed 
as  Brother  President  three  nights  out  of  every  week, 
and  he  cast  so  benevolent  a  smile  on  the  stenographer 
that  she  bridled  immediately. 

"Mis-ter  Lesengeld,"  she  called,  and  in  response 
B.  Lesengeld  projected  his  torso  from  an  adjacent 
doorway. 

"Miss  Schimpf,"  he  said  pleadingly,  "do  me  the 
favour  and  don't  make  such  a  Geschrei  every  time 
somebody  comes  in  the  office.  Goes  through  me  like 
a  knife  yet." 

Max  Schindelberger's  smile  took  on  the  quality  of 
indulgency  as  he  advanced  slowly  toward  B.  Lesen 
geld. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Lesengeld?"  he  said,  proffer- 

238 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     239 

ing  his  hand;  and  after  glancing  suspiciously  at  the 
extended  palm  Lesengeld  took  it  in  a  limp  clasp. 

"  I  already  suscribed  to  that — now — asylum,  ain't 
it?"  Lesengeld  began,  for  his  experienced  eye  had 
at  once  noted  the  fraternal  society  charm, the  I.  O.  M. 
A.  lapel  button,  and  the  white  tie  that  proclaimed 
Max  to  be  a  philanthropist. 

Max  laughed  as  heartily  as  he  could. 

"Ain't  it  funny,"  he  said,  "how  just  so  soon  as  any 
body  sees  me  they  think  I  am  going  to  do  something 
charitable  ?  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Lesengeld,  I  am 
coming  here  to  see  you  on  a  business  matter  which 
really  it  ain't  my  business  at  all." 

Lesengeld  grudgingly  held  open  the  door,  and  Max 
squeezed  past  him. 

"You  got  a  comfortable  place  here,  Mr.  Lesen 
geld,"  he  began,  "plain  and  old-fashioned,  but  com 
fortable." 

Lesengeld  removed  some  dusty  papers  from  a  chair. 

"It  suits  me,"  he  said.     "Take  a  seat,  Mr.— 

"Schindelberger,"  Max  said  as  he  sat  down. 

"Used  to  was  Schindelberger,  Steinfeld  &  Com 
pany  in  the  underwear  business  ? " 

Max  nodded  and  his  smile  began  to  fade. 

"My  partner  Belz  got  a  couple  of  the  composition 
notes  in  the  middle  compartment  in  our  safe  for  six 
years  already,"  Lesengeld  continued.  "He  keeps  'em 
for  sowveneers,  on  account  the  feller  he  took  'em  off 
of — a  relation  from  his  wife's — was  no  good,  neither. 


24o       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Which  you  was  telling  me  you  wanted  to  see  me  about 
a  business  matter." 

Max  Schindelberger  cleared  his  throat. 

"Anybody  could  have  reverses  in  business/'  he 
said. 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Lesengeld  commented.  "Only 
there  is  two  kinds  of  reverses,  Mr.  Schindelberger, 
reverses  from  up  to  down  and  reverses  from  down  to 
up,  like  when  a  feller  couldn't  pay  his  composition 
notes,  Mr.  Schindelberger,  and  two  years  later  is  buy 
ing  elevator  apartments  yet  in  his  wife's  name,  Mr. 
Schindelberger."  He  tapped  the  desk  impatiently. 
"Which  you  was  saying,"  he  added,  "that  you  wanted 
to  see  me  about  a  business  matter." 

Max  coughed  away  a  slight  huskiness.  When  he 
had  started  from  his  luxuriously  appointed  office  on 
lower  Nassau  Street  to  visit  Mr.  Lesengeld  on  East 
Broadway,  he  had  felt  a  trifle  sorry  for  Lesengeld, 
so  soon  to  feel  the  embarrassment  and  awkwardness 
incidental  to  meeting  for  the  first  time,  and  all  com 
bined  under  one  frockcoat,  the  District  Grand  Master 
of  the  I.  O.  M.  A.,  the  President  of  the  Bella  Hirshkind 
Home  for  Indigent  Females,  and  director  and  trustee 
of  three  orphan  asylums  and  of  an  eye,  ear,  and  throat 
infirmary.  With  the  first  reference  to  the  defunct 
underwear  business,  however,  Max  began  to  lose  the 
sense  of  confidence  that  the  dignity  of  his  various 
offices  lent  him;  and  by  the  time  Lesengeld  had  men 
tioned  the  elevator  apartment  houses  he  had  assumed 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     241 

to  Max  all  the  majesty  of,  say,  for  example,  the  Fed 
eral  Grand  Master  of  the  I.  O.  M.  A.,  with  Jacob  H. 
Schiff  and  Andrew  Carnegie  thrown  in  for  good  meas 
ure. 

"The  fact  is,"  Max  stammered,  "I  called  to  see  you 
about  the  three-thousand-dollar  mortgage  you  are 
holding  on  Rudnik's  house — the  second  mortgage." 

Lesengeld  nodded. 

"First  mortgages  I  ain't  got  any,"  he  said,  "and 
if  you  are  coming  to  insinivate  that  I  am  a  second- 
mortgage  shark,  Mr.  Schindelberger,  go  ahead  and 
do  so.  I  am  dealing  in  second  mortgages  now  twenty 
years  already,  and  I  hear  myself  called  a  shark  so 
often,  Mr.  Schindelberger,  that  it  sounds  like  it  would 
be  a  compliment  already.  I  come  pretty  near  getting 
it  printed  on  my  letterheads." 

"I  didn't  said  you  was  a  second-mortgage  shark, 
Mr.  Lesengeld;  a  man  could  be  a  whole  lot  worse  as 
a  second-mortgage  shark,  understand  me,  and  do  a 
charity  once  in  awhile,  anyhow.  You  know  what 
it  stands  in  Gemara  yet  ? " 

Schindelberger  settled  himself  in  his  chair  pre 
paratory  to  intoning  a  Talmudical  quotation,  but 
Lesengeld  forestalled  him. 

"Sure,  I  know,"  he  said,  "it  stands  in  Gemara  a 
whole  lot  about  charity,  Mr.  Schindelberger,  but  it 
don't  say  no  more  about  second  mortgages  as  it  does 
about  composition  notes,  for  instance.  So  if  you  are 
coming  to  me  to  ask  me  I  should  give  Rudnik  an  ex- 


242       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

tension  on  his  Clinton  Street  house,  you  could  learn 
Gemara  to  me  till  I  would  become  so  big  a  Melammed 
as  you  are,  understand  me,  and  it  wouldn't  make  no 
difference.  I  never  extend  no  mortgages  for  no 
body." 

"  But,  Mr.  Lesengeld,  you  got  to  remember  this  is 
an  exception,  otherwise  I  wouldn't  bother  myself  I 
should  come  up  here  at  all.  I  am  interesting  myself 
in  this  here  matter  on  account  Rudnik  is  an  old  man, 
understand  me,  and  all  he's  got  in  the  world  is  the 
Clinton  Street  house;  and,  furthermore,  he  will  make 
a  will  leaving  it  to  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home  for 
Indignant  Females,  which  if  you  want  to  go  ahead 
and  rob  a  lot  of  poor  old  widders  of  a  few  thousand 
dollars,  go  ahead,  Mr.  Lesengeld." 

He  started  to  rise  from  his  chair,  but  he  thought 
better  of  it  as  Lesengeld  began  to  speak. 

"Don't  make  me  no  bluffs,  Schindelberger,"  Les 
engeld  cried,  "because,  in  the  first  place,  if  Rudnik 
wills  his  house  to  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home,  what 
is  that  my  business  ?  And,  in  the  second  place,  Belz's 
wife's  mother's  a  cousin  got  a  sister  which  for  years, 
Belz,  makes  a  standing  offer  of  five  hundred  dollars 
some  one  should  marry  her,  and  finally  he  gets  her 
into  the  Home  as  single  as  the  day  she  was  born 
already." 

"One  or  two  ain't  widders,"  Schindelberger  ad 
mitted,  "but  they're  all  old,  and  when  you  say  what 
is  it  your  business  that  Rudnik  leaves  his  house  to 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     243 

charity,  sure  it  ain't.  Aber  it's  your  business  if  you 
try  to  take  the  house  away  from  charity.  Even  if 
you  would  be  dealing  in  second  mortgages,  Mr.  Les- 
engeld,  that  ain't  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  got 
a  heart  once  in  a  while." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  I  ain't  got  a  heart?"  Lesengeld 
demanded.  "I  got  just  so  much  a  heart  as  you  got 
it,  Mr.  Schindelberger.  Why,  last  night  I  went  on 
a  moving  pictures,  understand  me,  where  a  little 
girl  gets  her  father  he  should  give  her  mother  another 
show,  verstehst  du,  and  I  assure  you  I  cried  like  a  baby, 
such  a  soft  heart  I  got!  it."  He  had  risen  from  his 
chair  and  was  pacing  excitedly  up  and  down  the 
little  room.  "The  dirty  dawg  wants  to  put  her  out 
of  the  house  already  on  account  she  is  kissing  her 
brother  which  he  is  just  come  home  from  twenty 
years  on  the  Pacific  Coast,"  he  continued;  "and  peo 
ple  calls  me  a  shark  yet,  Mr.  Schindelberger,  which 
my  wife  and  me  is  married  twenty-five  years  next 
Succos  Halamode  and  never  so  much  as  an  unkind 
breath  between  us." 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Lesengeld,"  Schindelberger 
said.  "I  don't  doubt  your  word  for  a  minute,  but 
when  it  comes  to  foreclosing  a  mortgage  on  a  house 
which  it,  so  to  speak,  belongs  to  a  home  for  poor  wid- 
ders  and  a  couple  of  old  maids,  understand  me,  then 
that's  something  else  again." 

"Who  says  I'm  going  to  foreclose  the  mortgage?" 
Lesengeld  demanded. 


244       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"You  didn't  said  you  was  going  to  foreclose  it," 
Schindelberger  replied,  "but  you  says  you  ain't  never 
extended  no  mortgages  for  nobody." 

"Which  I  never  did,"  Lesengeld  agreed;  "but  that 
ain't  saying  I  ain't  never  going  to.  Seemingly,  also, 
you  seem  to  forget  I  got  a  partner,  Mr.  Schindel 
berger,  which  people  calls  him  just  so  much  a  shark 
as  me,  Mr.  Schindelberger." 

"  Aber  you  are  just  telling  me  your  partner  is  put 
ting  into  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home  a  relation  from  his 
wife's  already,  and  if  he  wouldn't  be  willing  to  extend 
the  mortgage,  Mr.  Lesengeld,  who  would?  Because 
I  needn't  got  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Lesengeld,  the  way 
business  is  so  rotten  nowadays  people  don't  give  up 
so  easy  no  more;  and  if  it  wouldn't  be  that  the  Bella 
Hirshkind  Home  gets  from  somebody  a  whole  lot  of 
assistance  soon  it  would  bust  up  sure,  and  Belz 
would  quick  find  himself  stuck  with  his  wife's  relation 
again,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

"But "  Lesengeld  began. 

"But  nothing,  Mr.  Lesengeld!"  Schindelberger 
cried.  "Here's  where  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home  is 
got  a  show  to  make  a  big  haul,  so  to  speak,  because 
this  here  Rudnik  has  got  something  the  matter  with 
his  liver  which  it  is  only  a  question  of  time,  under 
stand  me,  on  account  the  feller  is  an  old  bachelor 
without  anybody  to  look  after  him,  and  he  eats  all  the 
time  twenty-five-cent  regular  dinners.  I  give  him  at 
the  outside  six  months." 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     245 

"  But  are  you  sure  the  feller  makes  a  will  leaving  his 
house  to  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home?"  Lesengeld 
asked. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  am  I  sure?"  Schindelberger  ex 
claimed.  "Of  course  I  ain't  sure.  That's  why  I  am 
coming  up  here  this  morning.  If  you  would  extend 
first  the  mortgage  on  that  house,  Mr.  Lesengeld, 
Rudnik  makes  the  will,  otherwise  not;  because  it 
would  cost  anyhow  fifteen  dollars  for  a  lawyer  he 
should  draw  up  the  will,  ain't  it,  and  what's  the  use 
we  should  spend  the  money  if  you  take  away  from 
him  the  house?" 

"  But  if  I  would  extend  first  the  mortgage,  Schindel 
berger,  might  the  feller  wouldn't  make  the  will  may 
be." 

Schindelberger  clucked  his  tongue  impatiently. 

"Just  because  I  am  so  charitable  I  don't  got  to  be  a 
fool  exactly,"  he  said.  "If  you  would  extend  the 
mortgage,  Mr.  Lesengeld,  I  would  bring  Rudnik  up 
here  with  a  lawyer,  and  before  the  extension  agree 
ment  is  signed  Rudnik  would  sign  his  will  and  put  it 
in  your  safe  to  keep." 

Lesengeld  hesitated  for  a  minute. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Schindelberger,"  he  said  at  length; 
"give  me  a  little  time  I  should  think  this  matter  over. 
My  partner  is  up  in  the  Bronix  and  wouldn't  be  back 
till  to-morrow." 

"But  all  I  want  is  your  word,  Mr.  Lesengeld," 
Schindelberger  protested,  "because  might  if  I  would 


246        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

go  back  and  tell  Rudnik  you  wouldn't  extend  the 
mortgage  he  would  go  right  away  to  the  river  and 
jump  in  maybe." 

"Yow,  he  would  jump  in!"  Lesengeld  cried.  "Only 
the  other  day  I  seen  on  a  moving  pictures  a  fillum 
which  they  called  it  Life  is  Sweet,  where  an  old  man 
eighty  years  old  jumps  into  the  river  on  account  his 
grandson  died  in  an  elegant  furnished  apartment 
already;  and  when  a  young  feller  rescues  him  he  gives 
himfor  ten  thousand  dollars  a  check, which  I  wouldn't 
believe  it  at  all  if  I  didn't  seen  the  check  with  my  own 
eyes  yet.  I  was  terrible  broke  up  about  the  grandson, 
Mr.  Schindelberger,  aber  when  I  seen  the  check  I 
didn't  got  no  more  sympathy  for  the  old  man  at 
all.  Fifty  dollars  would  of  been  plenty,  especially 
when  the  young  feller  turns  out  to  be  the  son  of 
the  old  man's  boy  which  he  ain't  heard  from  in 
years." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Schindelberger  agreed,  "aber  such 
things  only  happen  in  moving  pictures,  Mr.  Lesen 
geld,  and  if  Rudnik  would  jump  in  the  river,  under 
stand  me,  the  least  that  happens  him  is  he  would  get 
drownded  and  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home  would  go 
Mechulla  sure." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  Lesengeld  said;  "you  could 
say  to  Rudnik  that  I  says  I  would  extend  the  mort 
gage  supposing  my  partner  is  agreeable,  on  consider 
ation  he  would  leave  the  house  to  the  Bella  Hirshkind 
Home,  and  Rudnik  is  to  pay  three  hundred  and  fifty 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     247 
dollars  to  my  lawyer  for  drawing  the  extension  agree 


ment." 


,  Mr.  Lesengeld "  Schindelberger  began. 

He  was  about  to  protest  against  the  size  of  the  bonus 
demanded  under  the  guise  of  counsel  fee  when  he  was 
interrupted  by  a  resounding,  "Koosh!"  from  Lesen 
geld. 

"That  is  my  last  word  and  the  very  best  I  could, 
do,"  Lesengeld  concluded,  "except  I  would  get  my 
lawyer  to  fix  up  the  will  and  schenk  it  to  you  free  for 
nothing." 

"I  don't  know  what  comes  over  you  lately,  Belz," 
Lesengeld  complained  the  following  morning.  "Every 
day  you  come  down  looking  like  a  bear  mit  a  spoiled 
tail." 

"  I  got  a  right  to  look  that  way,"  Belz  replied.  "  If 
you  would  got  such  a  wife's  relation  like  I  got  it, 
Lesengeld,  there'd  be  no  sitting  in  the  same  office  with 
you  at  all.  When  it  isn't  one  thing  it's  another. 
Yesterday  my  wife's  mother's  a  sister's  cousin  gets  a 
day  off  and  comes  round  and  gets  dinner  with  us.  I 
think  I  told  you  about  her  before — Miss  Blooma 
Duckman.  Nothing  suits  that  woman  at  all.  The 
way  she  acts  you  would  think  she  lives  in  the  bridal 
soot  at  the  Waldorfer,  and  she  gets  my  wife  so  mad, 
understand  me,  that  she  throws  away  a  whole  dish 
of  Tzimmus  in  the  garbage  can  already — which  I 
got  to  admit  that  the  woman  is  right,  Lesengeld — 


248       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

my  wife  don't  make  the   finest    Tzimmus    in    the 
world." 

"Suppose  she  don't,"  Lesengeld  commented. 
"Ain't  it  better  she  should  spoil  some  Tzimmus  which 
all  it's  got  into  it  is  carrots,  potatoes,  and  a  little  chuck  ? 
If  it  would  be  that  she  makes  a  failure  mit  Gdnse  oder 
chickens  which  it  really  costs  money,  understand  me, 
they  you  got  a  right  to  kick." 

"That's  what  I  says,"  Belz  replied,  "flforthat  Miss 
Duckman  takes  everything  so  particular.  She  kicks 
about  it  all  the  way  up  in  the  subway,  which  the  next 
time  I  get  one  of  my  wife's  relations  in  a  Home,  either 
it  would  be  so  far  away  she  couldn't  come  to  see  us  at 
all,  or  it  would  be  so  nearby  that  I  don't  got  to  lose  a 
night's  rest  seeing  her  home.  I  didn't  get  to  bed  till 
pretty  near  two  o'clock." 
•  He  stifled  a  yawn  as  he  sat  down  at  his  desk. 

"All  the  same,  Lesengeld,"  he  added,  "they 
certainly  got  a  nice  place  up  there  for  old  women. 
There's  lots  of  respectable  business  men  pays  ten 
dollars  a  week  for  their  wives  in  the  Catskills  already 
which  they  don't  got  it  so  comfortable.  Ain't  it  a 
shame,  Lesengeld,  that  with  a  charity  like  that  which 
is  really  a  charity,  people  don't  support  it  better  as 
they  do?" 

"I  bet  yer!"  Lesengeld  cried.  "The  way  some 
people  acts  not  only  they  ain't  got  no  hearts,  y'under- 
stand,  but  they  ain't  got  no  sense,  neither.  I  seen  a 
case  yesterday  where  an  old  Rosher  actually  refuses  to 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES    249 

pay  a  month's  rent  for  his  son's  widder  mit  a  little  boy, 
to  save  'em  being  put  out  on  the  sidewalk.  After 
ward  he  goes  broke,  understand  me,  and  when  the 
boy  grows  up  he's  got  the  nerve  to  make  a  touch  from 
him  a  couple  of  dollars  and  the  boy  goes  to  work  and 
gives  it  to  him.  If  I  would  be  the  boy  the  old  man 
could  starve  to  death;  I  wouldn't  give  him  not  one 
cent.  They  call  us  sharks,  Belz,  but  compared  with 
such  a  Haman  we  ain't  even  sardines." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Belz  said  as  he  consulted  the  firm's 
diary;  "and  if  you  wouldn't  waste  your  time  going  on 
so  many  moving  pictures,  Lesengeld,  might  you 
would  attend  to  business  maybe.  Yesterday  was  ten 
days  that  feller  Rudnik's  mortgage  is  past  due,  and 
what  did  you  done  about  it?  Nothing,  I  suppose." 

"Suppose  again,  Belz,"  Lesengeld  retorted.  "A 
feller  was  in  here  to  see  me  about  it  and  I  agreed  we 
would  give  Rudnik  an  extension." 

"What!"  Belz  cried.  "You  agreed  you  would  give 
him  an  extension!  Are  you  crazy  oder  what?  The 
way  money  is  so  tight  nowadays  and  real  estate  gone 
to  hellandall,  we  as  good  as  could  get  a  deed  of  that 
house  from  that  feller." 

"Sure  we  could,"  Lesengeld  replied  calmly,  "but 
we  ain't  going  to.  Once  in  a  while,  Belz,  even  in  the 
second-mortgage  business,  circumstances  alters  cases, 
and  this  here  is  one  of  them  cases;  so  before  you  are 
calling  me  all  kinds  of  suckers,  understand  me,  you 
should  be  so  good  and  listen  to  what  I  got  to  tell  you." 


25o       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Belz  shrugged  his  shoulders  resignedly. 

"Go  as  far  as  you  like,"  he  said,  " aber  if  it's  some 
thing  which  you  seen  it  on  a  moving  pictures,  Lesen- 
geld,  I  don't  want  to  hear  it  at  all." 

"It  didn't  happen  on  a  moving  pictures,  Belz,  but 
just  the  same  if  even  you  would  seen  it  on  a  moving 
pictures  you  would  say  to  yourself  that  with  a  couple 
of  fellers  like  you  and  me,  which  a  few  hundred  dollars 
one  way  or  the  other  wouldn't  make  or  break  us,  un 
derstand  me,  we  would  be  all  kinds  of  crooks  and  high 
waymen  if  we  would  went  to  work  and  turn  a  lot  of  old 
widders  out  into  the  street." 

"Lesengeld,"  Belz  shouted  impatiently,  "do  me 
the  favour  and  don't  make  no  speeches.  What  has 
turning  a  lot  of  old  widders  into  the  street  got  to  do 
with  Rudnik's  mortgage  ? " 

"It's  got  a  whole  lot  to  do  with  it,"  Lesengeld  re 
plied,  "because  Rudnik's  house  he  is  leaving  to  a 
Home  for  old  women,  and  if  we  take  away  the  house 
from  him  then  the  Home  wouldn't  get  his  house,  and 
the  Home  is  in  such  shape,  Belz,  that  if  it  wouldn't 
make  a  big  killing  in  the  way  of  a  legacy  soon  they 
would  bust  up  sure." 

"And  that's  all  the  reason  why  we  should  extend  the 
mortgage  on  Rudnik  ? "  Belz  demanded. 

"That's  all  the  reason,"  Lesengeld  answered;  "with 
three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  bonus." 

"Then  all  I  could  say  is,"  Belz  declared,  "we 
wouldn't  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  What  is  three 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES    251 

hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  bonus  in  these  times, 
Lesengeld?" 

"But  the  Home,"  Lesengeld  protested. 

"The  Home  should  bust  up,"  Belz  cried.  "What 
do  I  care  about  the  Home?" 

"Aber  the  widders?"  Lesengeld  insisted.  "If  the 
Home  busts  up  the  widders  is  thrown  into  the  street. 
Ain't  it?" 

"What  is  that  my  fault,  Lesengeld?  Did  I  make 
'em  widders?" 

"Sure,  I  know,  Belz;  aber  one  or  two  of  'em  ain't 
widders.  One  or  two  of  'em  is  old  maids  and  they 
would  got  to  go  and  live  back  with  their  relations. 
Especially" — he  concluded  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye 
— "especially  one  of  'em  by  the  name  Blooma  Duck- 


man." 


"Do  you  mean  to  told  me,"  Belz  faltered,  "that 
them  now — widders  is  in  the  Bella  HirshkindHome?" 

"  For  Indignant  Females,"  Lesengeld  added,  "which 
Max  Schindelberger  is  president  from  it  also." 

Belz  nodded  and  remained  silent  for  at  least  five 
minutes. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Lesengeld,"  he  said  at  last,  "after  all 
it's  a  hard  thing  a  woman  should  be  left  a  widder." 

"You  bet  your  life  it's  a  hard  thing,  Belz!"  Lesen 
geld  agreed  fervently.  "Last  week  I  seen  it  a  woman 
she  is  kissing  her  husband  good-bye,  and  the  baby 
also  kisses  him  good-bye — decent,  respectable,  hard 
working  people,  understand  me — and  not  two  minutes 


252       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

later  he  gets  run  down  by  a  trollyer  car.  The  next 
week  they  take  away  from  her  the  furniture,  under 
stand  me,  and  she  puts  the  baby  into  a  day  nursery, 
and  what  happens  after  that  I  didn't  wait  to  see  at  all. 
Cost  me  ten  cents  yet  in  a  drug  store  for  some  mathe- 
matic  spirits  of  ammonia  for  Mrs.  Lesengeld — she 
carries  on  so  terrible  about  it." 

Belz  sighed  tremulously. 

"All  right,  Lesengeld,"  he  said;  "write  Rudnik  we 
would  extend  the  mortgage  and  he  should  call  here  to 


morrow." 


"If  I  got  to  lose  the  house  I  got  to  lose  it,"  Harris 
Rudnik  declared  as  he  sat  in  B.  Lesengeld's  revolving 
chair  on  the  following  morning.  "I  ain't  got  long  to 
live  anyhow." 

He  tucked  his  hands  into  his  coat  pocket  and  glared 
balefully  at  Schindelberger,  who  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders. 

"That's  the  way  he  is  talking  right  along,"  he  said. 
"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ?  Mind  you,  it  ain't  that 
he's  got  anybody  he  should  leave  the  house  to,  Mr. 
Belz,  but  he  ain't  got  no  use  for  women." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  I  ain't  got  no  use  for  women?" 
Rudnik  cried.  "I  got  just  so  much  use  for  women  as 
you  got  it,  aber  not  for  a  lot  of  women  which  all  their 
lives  men  make  suckers  of  themselves  working  their 
heads  off  they  should  keep  'em  in  luxury,  understand 
me,  and  then  the  men  dies,  y'understand,  right  away 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     253 

the  widders  is  put  in  homes  and  other  men  which  ain't 
related  to  'em  at  all  must  got  to  leave  'em  their  hard- 
earned  Geld,  Mr.  Belz,  so  they  could  sit  with  their 
hands  folded  doing  nothing." 

"What  are  you  talking  nonsense  doing  nothing!" 
Schindelberger  retorted.  "Them  old  women  works 
like  anything  up  there.  I  told  you  before  a  dozen 
times,  Rudnik,  them  women  is  making  underwear  and 
jelly  and  stockings  and  Gott  weiss  was  noch." 

Rudnik  turned  appealingly  to  Belz. 

"Mr.  Belz,"  he  said,  "do  me  the  favour  and  let  me 
leave  my  money  to  a  Talmud  Torah  oder  a  Free  Loan 
Association." 

"Free  Loan  Association!"  Lesengeld  and  Belz  ex 
claimed  with  one  voice. 

"An  idee!"  Belz  shouted.  "What  d'ye  take  us  for, 
Rudnik?  You  are  going  too  far." 

"Cutthroats!"  Lesengeld  muttered  hoarsely. 
"  Stealing  bread  out  of  people's  mouths  yet.  A  lot  of 
people  goes  to  them  Roshoyim  and  fools  'em  into  lend 
ing  'em  money  they  should  play  Stuss  and  Tarrok, 
while  their  families  is  starving  yet.  If  you  want  to 
leave  your  house  to  a  Free  Loan  Association,  Rudnik, 
you  might  just  so  well  blow  it  up  mit  dynamite  and  be 
done  with  it." 

" Aber  a  Talmud  Torah  School,"  Rudnik  cried; 
"that's  something  which  you  couldn't  got  no  objection 


to." 


Don't  talk  like  a  fool,  Rudnik!"  Schindelberger 


254       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

interrupted.  "When  you  got  a  chance  to  leave  your 
money  to  a  Home  for  widders,  what  are  you  fooling 
away  your  time  making  suggestions  like  Talmud 
Tor  ah  schools  for  ?  A  young  feller  would  get  along  in 
business  if  he  never  even  seen  the  outside  of  a  Talmud 
Torah,  aber  if  the  widders  lose  their  Home,  understand 
me,  they  would  starve  to  death/' 

"Yow,  they  would  starve  to  death!"  Rudnik  said. 
"You  could  trust  a  widder  she  wouldn't  starve,  Mr. 
Schindelberger.  Them  which  didn't  got  no  relations 
they  could  easy  find  suckers  to  give  'em  money,  and 
them  which  did  got  relations,  their  families  should 
look  after  'em." 

Belz  grew  crimson  with  pent-up  indignation. 

"Loafer!"  he  roared.  "What  d'ye  mean,  their 
families  should  look  after  'em  ? " 

Belz  walked  furiously  up  and  down  the  office  and 
glowered  at  the  trembling  and  confused  Rudnik. 

"Seemingly  you  ain't  got  no  feelings  at  all,  Rud 
nik,"  he  continued.  "Schindelberger  tells  you  over 
and  over  again  they  are  working  them  poor  widders  to 
death  up  there,  and  yet  you  want  to  take  away  the 
roofs  from  their  backs  even." 

"No,  I  didn't,  Mr.  Belz,"  Rudnik  said.  "I  didn't 
say  nothing  about  a  roof  at  all.  Why,  I  ain't  even 
seen  the  Home,  Mr.  Belz.  Could  you  expect  me  I 
should  leave  my  money  to  a  Home  without  I  should 
see  it  even  ? " 

"  My  worries  if  you  seen  it  oder  not ! "  Belz  retorted. 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     255 

"The  thing  is,  Rudnik,  before  we  would  extend  for 
you  the  mortgage  you  must  got  to  make  not  a  will  but 
a  deed  which  you  deed  the  house  to  the  Bella  Hirsh- 
kind  Home,  keeping  for  yourself  all  the  income  from 
the  house  for  your  life,  because  otherwise  if  a  man 
makes  a  will  he  could  always  make  another  will,  aber 
once  you  give  a  deed  it  is  fixed  undfertig" 

This  ultimatum  was  the  result  of  a  conference  be 
tween  Belz  and  his  counsel  the  previous  evening,  and 
he  had  timed  its  announcement  to  the  moment  when 
he  deemed  his  victim  to  be  sufficiently  intimidated. 
Nevertheless,  the  shock  of  its  disclosure  spurred  the 
drooping  Rudnik  to  a  fresh  outburst. 

"What!"  he  shouted.  "I  should  drive  myself  out 
of  my  house  for  a  lot  of  widders!" 

"Koosh!"  Schindelberger  bellowed.  "They  ain't 
all  widders.  Two  of  'em  is  old  maids,  Rudnik,  and 
even  if  they  would  be  all  widders  you  must  got  to  do 
as  Mr.  Belz  says,  otherwise  you  would  drive  yourself 
out  of  your  house  anyway.  Because  in  these  times 
not  only  you  couldn't  raise  no  new  second  mortgage 
on  the  house,  but  if  Lesengeld  and  Belz  forecloses  on 
you  the  house  would  hardly  bring  in  auction  the 
amount  of  the  first  mortgage  even." 

Rudnik  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  plucked  at  his 
scant  gray  beard.  He  recognized  the  force  of  Schin- 
delberger's  argument  and  deemed  it  the  part  of  dis 
cretion  to  temporize  with  his  mortgagees. 

"Why  didn't  you  told  me  there  is  a  couple  old 


256       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

maids  up  there?"  he  said  to  Schindelberger.  "Old 
maids  is  horses  of  another  colour;  so  come  on,  Mr. 
Schindelberger,  do  me  the  favour  and  go  up  with  me 
so  I  could  anyhow  see  the  Home  first." 

He  slid  out  of  his  chair  and  smiled  at  Schindel 
berger,  who  stared  frigidly  in  return. 

"You  got  a  big  idee  of  yourself,  Rudnik,  I  must 
say,"  he  commented.  "What  do  you  think,  I  ain't 
got  nothing  better  to  do  as  escort  you  up  to  the  Bella 
HirshkindHome?" 

"Rudnik  is  right,  Schindelberger,"  Lesengeld  said; 
"you  should  ought  to  show  him  the  Home  before  he 
leaves  his  house  to  it." 

"I  would  show  him  nothing,"  Schindelberger 
cried.  "Here  is  my  card  to  give  to  the  superin 
tendent,  and  all  he  is  got  to  do  is  to  go  up  on  the  sub 
way  from  the  bridge.  Get  off  at  Bronix  Park  and 
take  a  Mount  Vernon  car  to  Ammerman  Avenue. 
Then  you  walk  six  blocks  east  and  follow  the  New 
Haven  tracks  toward  the  trestle.  The  Home  is  the 
first  house  you  come  to.  You  couldn't  miss  it." 

Rudnik  took  the  card  and  started  for  the  door, 
while  Belz  nodded  sadly  at  his  partner. 

"And  you  are  kicking  I  am  cranky  yesterday  morn 
ing,"  he  said.  "In  the  daytime  is  all  right  going 
up  there,  but  in  the  night,  Lesengeld,  a  bloodhound 
could  get  twisted.  Every  time  I  go  up  there  I  think 
wonder  I  get  back  home  at  all." 

"I  bet  yer,"  Lesengeld  said.     "The  other  evening  I 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     257 

seen  a  fillum  by  the  name  Lawst  in  the  Jungle, 
and- 

"  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  Schindelberger  inter 
rupted,  "I  got  a  little  business  to  attend  to  by  my 
office,  and  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you  I  would  come  here 
with  Rudnik  to-morrow  morning  ten  o'clock." 

"By  the  name  Lawst  in  the  Jungle,"  Lesengeld  re 
peated  with  an  admonitory  glare  at  Schindelberger, 
"which  a  young  feller  gets  ate  up  with  a  tiger  already; 
and  I  says  to  Mrs.  Lesengeld:  'Mommer,'  I  says, 
'people  could  say  all  they  want  to  how  fine  it  is  to  live 
in  the  country/  I  says,  'give  me  New  York  City  every 
time/  I  says  to  my  wife." 

Harris  Rudnik  had  been  encouraged  to  misogyny 
by  cross  eyes  and  a  pockmarked  complexion.  Never 
theless,  he  was  neither  so  confirmed  in  his  hatred  of 
the  sex  nor  so  discouraged  by  his  physical  deformities 
as  to  neglect  shaving  himself  and  changing  into  a 
clean  collar  and  his  Sabbath  blacks  before  he  began 
his  journey  to  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home.  Thus 
when  he  alighted  from  the  Mount  Vernon  car  at 
Ammerman  Avenue  he  presented,  at  least  from  the 
rear,  so  spruce  an  appearance  as  to  attract  the  notice 
of  no  less  a  person  than  Miss  Blooma  Duckman  her 
self. 

Miss  Duckman  was  returning  from  an  errand  on 
which  she  had  been  dispatched  by  the  superintendent 
of  the  Home,  for  of  all  the  inmates  she  was  not  only 


258        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

the  youngest  but  the  spryest,  and  although  she  was  at 
least  half  a  block  behind  Harris  when  she  first  caught 
sight  of  him,  she  had  no  difficulty  in  overtaking  him 
before  he  reached  the  railroad  track. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  said  as  he  hesitated  at  the  side  of 
the  track,  "are  you  maybe  looking  for  the  Bella 
HirshkindHome?" 

Harris  started  and  blushed,  but  at  length  his  mis 
ogyny  asserted  itself  and  he  turned  a  beetling  frown 
on  Miss  Duckman. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  am  I  looking  for  the  Bella  Hirsh- 
kind  Home?"  he  said.  "Do  you  suppose  I  come  up 
here  all  the  way  from  Brooklyn  Bridge  to  watch  the 
trains  go  by?" 

"  I  thought  maybe  you  didn't  know  the  way,"  Miss 
Duckman  suggested.  "  You  go  along  that  there  path 
and  it's  the  first  house  you  are  coming  to." 

She  pointed  to  the  path  skirting  the  railroad  track, 
and  Harris  began  to  perspire  as  he  found  himself  sur 
rendering  to  an  impulse  of  politeness  toward  this  very 
young  old  lady.  He  conquered  it  immediately,  how 
ever,  and  cleared  his  throat  raspingly. 

"I  couldn't  swim  exactly,"  he  retorted  as  he  sur 
veyed  the  miry  trail  indicated  by  Miss  Duckman,  "so 
I  guess  I'll  walk  along  the  railroad." 

"You  could  do  that,  too,"  Miss  Duckman  said, 
"  aber  I  ain't  allowed  to,  on  account  the  rules  of  the 
Home  says  we  shouldn't  walk  along  the  tracks." 

Harris  raised  his  eyebrows. 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES    259 

"You  don't  mean  to  told  me  you  are  one  of  them 
indignant  females?"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  belong  in  the  Home,"  Miss  Duckman  replied, 
colouring  slightly,  and  Rudnik  felt  himself  being  over 
come  by  a  wave  of  remorse  for  his  bluntness.  He 
therefore  searched  his  mind  for  a  sufficiently  gruff  re 
joinder,  and  finding  none  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "there's  worser  places, 
lady." 

Miss  Duckman  nodded. 

"Maybe,"  she  murmured;  "and  anyhow  I  ain't  so 
bad  off  as  some  of  them  other  ladies  up  there  which 
they  used  to  got  husbands  and  homes  of  their  own." 

"Ain't  you  a  widder,  too?"  Rudnik  asked,  his 
curiosity  again  getting  the  upper  hand. 

"I  ain't  never  been  married,"  Miss  Duckman 
answered  as  she  drew  her  shawl  primly  about  her. 

"Well,  you  ain't  missed  much,"  Rudnik  declared, 
"so  far  as  I  could  see." 

"Why,"  Miss  Duckman  exclaimed,  "ain't  you 
never  been  married,  neither?" 

Rudnik  blinked  solemnly  before  replying. 

"You're  just  like  a  whole  lot  of  ladies,"  he  said; 
"you  must  got  to  find  out  everything."  He  turned 
away  and  stepped  briskly  on  to  the  railroad  track. 

"But  ain't  you  married?"  Miss  Duckman  insisted. 

"No,"  he  growled  as  he  started  off.  "Gott  sei 
dank." 

For  a  brief  interval  Miss   Duckman  stood   and 


260       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

watched  his  progress  along  the  ties,  and  then  she 
gathered  her  parcels  more  firmly  in  her  arms  and 
began  to  negotiate  the  quagmire  that  led  to  the 
Home.  She  had  not  proceeded  more  than  a  hundred 
feet,  however,  when  a  locomotive  whistle  sounded  in 
the  distance. 

"Hey,  mister!"  she  shouted;  but  even  if  Rudnik 
heard  the  warning  it  served  only  to  hasten  his  foot 
steps.  Consequently  the  train  was  almost  upon  him 
before  he  became  aware  of  it,  and  even  as  he  leaped 
wildly  to  one  side  the  edge  of  the  cowcatcher  struck 
him  a  glancing  blow.  Miss  Duckman  dropped  her 
bundles  and  plunged  through  the  mud  to  where 
Rudnik  lay,  while  the  train,  which  was  composed  'of 
empty  freight  cars,  slid  to  a  grinding  stop  a  short 
distance  up  the  track. 

She  was  kneeling  recklessly  in  the  mud  supporting 
Rudnik  with  both  her  hands  when  the  engineer  and 
the  fireman  reached  them. 

"Is  your  husband  hurted  bad?"  the  engineer  asked 
Miss  Duckman. 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  Miss  Duckman's  worn 
cheeks,  and  her  lips  trembled  so  that  she  could  not 
reply.  Nevertheless,  at  the  word  "husband"  her 
maidenly  heart  gave  a  tremendous  bound,  and  when 
the  engineer  and  the  fireman  lifted  Rudnik  gently  into 
the  caboose  her  confusion  was  such  that  without  pro 
test  she  permitted  the  conductor  to  assist  her  care 
fully  up  the  car  steps. 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     261 

"Sit  ye  down  on  that  stool  there,  lady/*  he  said. 
"As  far  as  I  can  see  your  man  ain't  got  no  bones 
broken." 

"  But "  Miss  Duckman  protested. 

"Now,  me  dear  lady/'  the  conductor  interrupted, 
"don't  ye  go  worritin'  yerself.  I've  got  me  orders 
if  anybody  gets  hit  be  the  train  to  take  him  to  the 
nearest  company's  doctor  in  the  direction  I'm  goin'. 
See?  And  if  you  was  Mister  and  Missus  Vanderbilt, 
they  couldn't  treat  you  no  better  up  to  the  Emer 
gency  Hospital." 

"But "  Miss  Duckman  began.  Again  she 

attempted  to  explain  that  Rudnik  was  not  her  hus 
band,  and  again  the  conductor  forestalled  her. 

"And  if  he's  able  to  go  home  to-night,"  he  said 
finally,  "ye'll  be  given  free  transportation,  in  a 
parlour  car  d'ye  mind,  like  ye'd  be  on  your  honey 


moon.'3 


He  patted  her  gently  on  the  shoulder  as  he  turned 
to  a  waiting  brakeman. 

"Let  her  go,  Bill,"  he  cried,  and  with  a  jubilant 
toot  from  the  engine  Miss  Duckman's  elopement  was 
fairly  under  way. 

When  Harris  Rudnik  opened  his  eyes  in  the  little 
white-curtained  room  of  the  Emergency  Hospital, 
Miss  Duckman  sat  beside  his  bed.  She  smiled  en 
couragingly  at  him,  but  for  more  than  five  minutes  he 
made  no  effort  to  speak. 


262        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "what  are  you  kicking 
about?  It's  an  elegant  place,  this  here  Home." 

Miss  Duckman  laid  her  fingers  on  her  lips. 

"You  shouldn't  speak  nothing,"  she  whispered, 
"on  account  you  are  sick,  aber  not  serious  sick." 

"I  know  I  am  sick,"  Rudnik  replied.  "I  was  just 
figuring  it  all  out.  I  am  getting  knocked  down  by  a 
train  and— 

"No  bones  is  broken,"  Miss  Duckman  hastened  to 
assure  him.  "You  would  be  out  in  a  few  days." 

"I  am  satisfied,"  he  said  faintly.  "You  got  a  fine 
place  here,  Missis." 

Miss  Duckman  laid  her  hand  on  Rudnik's 
pillow. 

"I  ain't  a  Missis,"  she  murmured.  "My  name  is 
Miss  Blooma  Duckman." 

"Blooma,"  Rudnik  muttered.  "I  once  used  to 
got  a  sister  by  the  name  Blooma,  and  it  ain't  a  bad 
name,  neither."  He  was  not  entirely  softened  by  his 
mishap,  however.  "But,  anyhow,  that  ain't  here  or 
there,"  he  said.  "Women  is  just  the  same — always 
kicking.  What  is  the  matter  with  this  Home,  Miss 
Duckman?  It's  an  elegant  place  already." 

"This  ain't  the  Home,"  Miss  Duckman  explained. 
"This  is  a  hospital,  which  when  you  was  hit  by  the 
engine  they  put  you  on  the  train  and  took  you  up 
here." 

"Aber  what  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked  after  a 
pause. 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     263 

"I  come  along,"  Miss  Duckman  said;  "and  now 
you  shouldn't  talk  no  more." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  you  come  along?"  he  cried. 
"  Didn't  you  go  back  to  the  Home  ? " 

Miss  Duckman  shook  her  head,  and  Rudnik  turned 
on  his  pillow  and  looked  inquiringly  at  her. 

"How  long  am  I  up  here,  anyhow?"  he  demanded. 

"Four  days,"  Miss  Duckman  said,  and  Rudnik 
closed  his  eyes  again.  For  ten  minutes  longer  he  lay 
still  and  then  his  lips  moved. 

"What  did  you  say?"  Miss  Duckman  asked. 

"I  says  Blooma  is  a  pretty  good  name  already,"  he 
murmured,  smiling  faintly,  and  the  next  moment  he 
sank  into  a  light  sleep. 

When  he  awoke  Miss  Duckman  still  sat  by  the  side 
of  his  bed,  her  fingers  busy  over  the  hem  of  a  sheet, 
and  he  glanced  nervously  at  the  window  through 
which  the  late  afternoon  sun  came  streaming. 

"Ain't  it  pretty  late  you  should  be  away  from  the 
Home?"  he  inquired.  "It  must  be  pretty  near  six, 
ain't  it?" 

"I  know  it,"  Miss  Duckman  said;  "and  the  doctor 
says  at  six  you  should  take  this  here  powder." 

"  Aber  shouldn't  you  got  to  be  getting  ready  to  go 
back  to  the  Home?"  he  asked. 

Miss  Duckman  shook  her  head. 

"I  ain't  going  back  no  more,"  she  answered.  "I 
got  enough  of  them  people." 

Rudnik  looked  helplessly  at  her. 


264       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"But  what  would  you  do?"  he  said.  "You  ain't 
got  no  other  place  to  go  to,  otherwise  you  wouldn't 
got  to  live  in  a  Home." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  she  replied  as  she  prepared  to  give 
him  his  powder;  "but  Gott  sei  dank  I  still  got  my 
health,  and  I  am  telling  the  lady  superintendent  here 
how  they  work  me  at  the  Home,  and  she  says  I  could 
stop  here  till  I  am  finding  something  to  do.  I  could 
cook  already  and  I  could  sew  already,  and  if  the 
worser  comes  to  the  worst  I  could  find  a  job  in  an 
underwear  factory.  They  don't  pay  much,  but  a 
woman  like  me  she  don't  eat  much.  All  I  want  is  I 
could  get  a  place  to  sleep,  and  I  bet  yer  I  could  make 
out  fine.  So  you  should  please  take  the  powder." 

Rudnik  swallowed  his  powder. 

"You  says  you  could  cook,"  he  remarked  after  he 
had  again  settled  himself  on  his  pillow.  "  Tzimmus, 
for  instance,  und  Fleisch  Kugel?" 

"  Tzimmus  und  Fleisch  Kugel  is  nothing,"  she  de 
clared.  "I  don't  want  to  say  nothing  about  myself, 
understand  me,  because  lots  of  women  to  hear  'em 
talk  you  would  think  wonder  what  cooks  they  are,  and 
they  couldn't  even  boil  a  potater  even;  aber  if  you 
could  eat  my  gefullte  Rinderbrust,  Mister " 

"Rudnik,"  he  said  as  he  licked  his  moist  lips, 
"Harris  Rudnik." 

"Mister  Rudnik,"  she  proceeded,  " oder  my  Te- 
beches,  you  would  got  to  admit  I  ain't  so  helpless  as  I 
look." 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     265 

"You  don't  look  so  helpless,"  Rudnik  commented; 
"I  bet  yer  you  could  do  washing  even." 

"Could  I?"  Miss  Duckman  exclaimed.  "Why, 
sometimes  at  the  Home  I  am  washing  from  morning 
till  night,  aber  I  ain't  kicking  none.  It  really  agrees 
with  me,  Mr.  Rudnik." 

Rudnik  nodded.  Again  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  had 
it  not  been  that  he  swallowed  convulsively  at  intervals 
he  would  have  appeared  to  be  sleeping.  Suddenly  he 
raised  himself  on  his  pillow. 

"Do  you  make  maybe  a  good  cup  coffee  also?"  he 
inquired. 

"A  good  cup  coffee  I  make  in  two  ways,"  Miss 
Duckman  answered.  "The  first  is 

Rudnik  waved  his  hand  feebly. 

"I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  he  said,  and  again 
lapsed  into  quietude. 

"D'ye  know,"  he  murmured  at  length,  "I  ain't 
drunk  a  good  cup  coffee  in  years  already?" 

Miss  Duckman  made  no  answer.  Indeed  she 
dropped  her  sewing  and  passed  noiselessly  out  of  the 
room,  and  when  she  returned  ten  minutes  later  she 
bore  on  a  linen-covered  tray  a  cup  of  steaming,  fra 
grant  coffee. 

"How  was  that?"  Miss  Duckman  asked  after  he 
had  emptied  the  cup. 

Rudnik  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his 
hand. 

"All  I  could  say  is,"  he  replied,  "if  your  Tzimmus 


266       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

ain't  no  worser  as  your  coffee,  Miss  Duckman,  no 
body  could  kick  that  you  ain't  a  good  cook." 

Miss  Duckman's  faded  cheeks  grew  pink  and  she 
smiled  happily. 

"I  guess  you  are  trying  to  make  me  a  compliment," 
she  said. 

"In  my  whole  life  I  never  made  for  a  woman  a  com 
pliment,"  Rudnik  declared.  "I  never  even  so  much 
as  met  one  I  could  make  a  compliment  to  yet  except 
you,  and  mit  you  it  ain't  no  compliment,  after  all.  It's 
the  truth." 

He  lay  back  on  his  pillow  and  gazed  at  the  ceiling 
for  fully  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  while  Miss  Duckman 
sewed  away  industriously. 

"After  all,"  he  said  at  last,  "why  not  ?  Older  men 
as  me  done  it." 

"Did  you  say  something?"  Miss  Duckman  asked. 

Rudnik  cleared  his  throat  noisily. 

"I  says,"  he  replied,  "you  should  please  be  so  good 
and  don't  bother  yourself  about  that — now — under 
wear  factory  job  till  I  am  getting  out  of  here." 

"A  Home  is  a  Home,"  B.  Lesengeld  said  as  he  and 
Belz  sat  in  the  office  nearly  a  week  later;  "but  if 
Schindelberger  wouldn't  show  up  here  with  Rudnik 
to-day  yet,  Belz,  we  would  foreclose  sure." 

"Would  we?"  Belz  retorted.  "Well,  I  got  some 
thing  to  say  about  that,  too,  Lesengeld,  and  I'm 
going  to  give  the  Bella  Hirshkind  people  a  couple 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     267 

days  longer.  To-day  is  Blooma  Duckman's  day  out 
again,  and  me  and  Mrs.  Belz  we  sit  home  last  night 
and  we  couldn't  do  a  thing  on  account  Mrs.  Belz  is 
dreading  it  so.  Think  what  it  would  be  if  that  woman 
is  thrown  back  on  our  hands." 

"If  she  is  so  terrible  as  all  that  why  do  you  let  her 
come  at  all?"  Lesengeld  asked,  and  Belz  heaved  a 
great  sigh. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Lesengeld,"  he  said,  "she's  really  got 
a  very  good  heart,  y 'understand;  aber  is  it  Mrs.  Belz's 
fault  she  ain't  such  a  A  Number  One  cook?  Every 
time  that  Blooma  Duckman  comes  round  she  rubs  it 
in  yet,  and  she  snoops  under  beds  to  see  is  it  clean 
oder  not,  and  she  gets  the  girl  so  worked  up,  under 
stand  me,  that  we  are  hiring  a  new  one  every  week. 
At  the  same  time  the  woman  means  well,  Lesengeld, 
but  you  know  how  that  is:  some  people  means  so  well 
you  couldn't  stand  'em  at  all." 

Lesengeld  nodded. 

"Sure,  I  know,"  he  said.  "I  seen  it  last  week  a 
case  where  a  feller  all  the  time  means  well  and  is  try 
ing  to  do  good.  He  is  taking  pity  on  a  tramp,  under 
stand  me,  and  the  tramp  ganvers  his  silver  spoons  and 
everything,  and  I  says  to  Mrs.  Lesengeld:  'Mommer,' 
I  says,  'it  only  goes  to  show,'  I  says,  'if  you  feel  you 
are  beginning  to  take  pity  on  a  feller,'  I  says,  'you 
shouldn't  got  no  mercy  on  him  at  all,'  I  says.  'Other 
wise  he  will  go  to  work  and  do  you  every  time,'  I  says. 
So  that's  why  I  am  telling  you,  Belz,  I  guess  the  best 


268        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

thing  we  could  do  is  we  should  right  away  foreclose 
Rudnik's  house  on  him.  Then  if  Schindelberger  is 
such  a  charitable  sucker  as  all  that,  let  him  buy  in  the 
house  for  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home  and  be  done  with 
it.  All  we  want  is  our  money  back  and  we  would  be 
satisfied.  What  is  the  use  we  consider  Rudnik's  feel 
ings.  Ain't  it?" 

"Do  you  think  I  am  holding  off  on  Rudnik's 
account?"  Belz  exclaimed  indignantly.  "I  never 
even  got  an  idee  to  take  pity  on  the  feller  at  all.  An 
old  snoozer  like  him  which  he's  got  only  one  house  to 
his  name,  understand  me,  he  don't  deserve  no  better. 
So  go  ahead  and  ring  up  Schindelberger  and  tell  him 
that's  what  we  would  do." 

Lesengeld  turned  to  the  desk,  but  even  as  he  took 
the  telephone  receiver  from  the  hook  Schindelberger 
himself  came  in. 

"Endlich!"  Belz  exclaimed.  "We  was  expecting 
you  a  whole  week  yet.  Are  you  ready  to  fix  up  about 
Rudnik's  mortgage?" 

Schindelberger  sat  down  and  carefully  placed  his 
hat  on  Belz's  desk. 

"The  mortgage  I  didn't  come  to  see  you  about 
exactly,"  he  said.  "  I  got  something  else  to  tell  you." 

"Something  else  I  ain't  interested  in  at  all,"  Belz 
rejoined.  "We  was  just  going  to  telephone  and  ask 
you  why  don't  Rudnik  fix  it  up  about  the  mortgage  ? " 

"I  am  coming  to  that  presently,"  Schindelberger 
said.  "What  I  want  to  say  now  is,  Mr.  Belz,  that  I 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES    269 

am  very  sorry  I  got  to  come  here  and  tell  you  an  in 
formation  about  your  wife's  cousin,  Miss  Blooma 
Duckman." 

"Blooma  Duckman!"  Belz  exclaimed.  "What's 
the  trouble;  is  she  sick?" 

Schindelberger  shook  his  head. 

"Worser  as  that,"  he  explained.  "She  disap 
peared  from  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home  a  week  ago 
already  and  nobody  sees  nothing  from  her  since." 

For  a  brief  interval  Belz  stared  at  his  visitor  and 
then  he  turned  to  Lesengeld. 

"Ain't  that  a  fine  note?"  he  said. 

"All  we  are  discovering  is  a  couple  packages  she 
got  with  her,  which  the  superintendent  sends  her  over 
to  West  Farms  she  should  buy  some  groceries,  and  on 
her  way  back  she  drops  the  packages  and  disappears." 

"Might  she  fell  down  a  rock  maybe?"  Lesengeld 
suggested.  "The  other  day  I  am  seeing  a  fillum 
where  a  feller  falls  down  a  rock  already  and  they 
search  for  him  a  hundred  people  yet.  They  get  near 
him  as  I  am  to  you,  Schindelberger,  and  still  they 
couldn't  find  him  anyhow  on  account  the  feller  is  too 
weak  to  say  something." 

"How  could  she  fall  down  a  rock?"  Schindelberger 
interrupted.  "It's  all  swamps  up  there.  But,  any 
how,  Belz,  we  are  wasting  time  here  talking  about  it. 
The  best  thing  is  you  should  ring  up  the  police." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  wasting  time?"  Belz  cried. 
"You're  a  fine  one  to  talk  about  wasting  time.  Here 


27o       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

the  woman  disappears  a  week  ago  already  and  you  are 
only  just  telling  me  now." 

Schindelberger  blushed. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  he  said,  "we  all  the  time  got  hopes 
she  would  come  back."  In  point  of  fact  he  had 
purposely  delayed  breaking  the  news  to  Belz  in  order 
that  the  settlement  of  Rudnik's  mortgage  extension 
should  not  be  prejudiced.  "But  now,"  he  added 
ingenuously,  "it  don't  make  no  difference,  because 
Rudnik  telephones  me  yesterday  morning  that  the 
whole  thing  is  off  on  account  he  is  married." 

"Married!"  Lesengeld  cried.  "Do  you  mean  to 
told  me  that  old  Schlemiel  gets  married  yet?" 

"So  sure  as  you  are  sitting  there.  And  he  says  he 
would  come  round  here  this  morning  and  see  you." 

"He  should  save  himself  the  trouble,"  Belz  de 
clared  angrily.  "Now  particularly  that  Blooma 
Duckman  ain't  up  there  at  all,  I  wouldn't  extend  that 
mortgage,  not  if  he  gives  a  deed  to  that  Home  to  take 
effect  right  to-day  yet.  I  shouldn't  begun  with  you 
in  the  first  place,  Schindelberger." 

Schindelberger  seized  his  hat. 

"I  acted  for  the  best,"  he  said.  "I  am  sorry  you 
should  get  delayed  on  your  mortgage,  gentlemen, 
aber  you  shouldn't  hold  it  up  against  me.  I  done  it 
for  the  sake  of  the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home,  which  if 
people  gets  sore  at  me  on  account  I  always  act  chari 
table,  that's  their  lookout,  not  mine." 

He  started  for  the  door  as  he  finished  speaking,  but 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     271 

as  he  placed  his  hand  on  the  knob  some  one  turned  it 
from  the  other  side  and  the  next  moment  he  stood 
face  to  face  with  Rudnik. 

"  So ! "  Schindelberger  exclaimed.  "You  are  really 
coming  up  here,  are  you  ?  It  ain't  a  bluff,  like  you  are 
taking  my  card  to  go  up  to  the  Home  and  you  never 
went  near  the  place  at  all." 

Rudnik  shut  the  door  behind  him. 
"What  d'ye  mean,  I  didn't  go  near  the  place  at  all?" 
he  said  angrily.  "Do  you  think  I  am  such  a  liar  like 
you  are,  Schindelberger?  Not  only  did  I  go  near  the 
place,  but  I  got  so  near  it  that  a  hundred  feet  more 
and  the  engine  would  knocked  me  into  the  front  door 
of  the  Home  already." 

It  was  then  that  Lesengeld  and  Belz  observed  the 
stout  cane  on  which  Rudnik  supported  himself. 

"I  come  pretty  close  to  being  killed  already  on 
account  I  am  going  up  to  the  Home,"  he  continued; 
"and  if  nobody  is  asking  me  to  sit  down  I  would  sit 
down  anyway,  because  if  a  feller  gets  run  over  by  a 
train  he  naturally  don't  feel  so  strong,  even  if  he  would 
escape  with  bruises  only." 

"Did  you  got  run  over  with  a  train?"  Schindel 
berger  asked. 

"I  certainly  did,"  Rudnik  said.  "I  got  run 
over  with  a  train  and  married  in  six  days,  and  if 
you  go  to  work  and  foreclose  my  house  on  me  to-day 
yet,  it  will  sure  make  a  busy  week  for  me."  He 
looked  pathetically  at  Belz.  "Unless,"  he  added, 


272       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"you  are  going  to  give  me  a  show  and  extend  the 
mortgage." 

Belz  met  this  appeal  with  stolid  indifference. 

"Of  course,  Rudnik,"  he  said,  "I'm  sorry  you  got 
run  over  with  a  train;  but  if  we  would  extend  your 
mortgage  on  account  you  got  run  over  with  a  train 
and  our  other  mortgagees  hears  of  it,  understand  me, 
the  way  money  is  so  tight  nowadays,  every  time  a 
mortgage  comes  due  them  suckers  would  ring  in 
trollyer-car  accidents  on  us  and  fall  down  coal-holes 
so  as  we  would  give  'em  an  extension  already." 

"And  wouldn't  it  make  no  difference  that  I  just  got 
married?"  Rudnik  asked. 

"If  an  old  feller  like  you  gets  married,  Rudnik," 
Belz  replied,  "he  must  got  to  take  the  consequences." 

"An  idee!"  Lesengeld  exclaimed.  "Do  you  think 
that  we  are  making  wedding  presents  to  our  mortga 
gees  yet,  Rudnik?" 

"It  serves  you  right,  Rudnik,"  Schindelberger  said. 
"If  you  would  consent  to  the  Home  getting  your 
property  I  wouldn't  said  nothing  about  Miss  Duck- 
man's  disappearing  and  Belz  would  of  extended  the 
mortgage  on  you." 

"I  was  willing  to  do  it,"  Rudnik  said,  "aber  my 
wife  wouldn't  let  me.  She  says  rather  than  see  the 
house  go  that  way  she  would  let  you  gentlemen  fore 
close  it  on  us,  even  if  she  would  got  to  starve." 

"I  don't  know  who  your  wife  is,"  Schindelberger 
rejoined  angrily,  "but  she  talks  like  a  big  fool." 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES     273 

"No,  she  don't,"  Rudnik  retorted;  "she  talks  like 
a  sensible  woman,  because,  in  the  first  place,  she 
wouldn't  got  to  starve.  I  got  enough  strength  left 
that  I  could  always  make  for  her  and  me  anyhow  a 
living,  and,  in  the  second  place,  the  Home  really  ain't 
a  home.  It's  a  business." 

"A  business!"  Schindelberger  cried.  "What  d'ye 
mean,  a  business?" 

"I  mean  a  business,"  Rudnik  replied,  "an  under 
wear  business.  Them  poor  women  up  there  makes 
underwear  from  morning  till  night  already,  and 
Schindelberger  here  got  a  brother-in-law  which  he 
buys  it  from  the  Home  for  pretty  near  half  as  much 
as  it  would  cost  him  to  make  it." 

"Kosher!"  Max  Schindelberger  shrieked.  "Who 
tells  you  such  stories?" 

"My  wife  tells  me,"  Rundik  replied. 

"And  how  does  your  wife  know  it  ? "  Belz  demanded. 

"Because,"  Rudnik  answered,  "she  once  used  to 
live  in  the  Home." 

"Then  that  only  goes  to  show  what  a  liar  you  are," 
Schindelberger  said.  "Your  wife  couldn't  of  been  in 
the  Home  on  account  it  only  gets  started  last  year, 
and  everybody  which  went  in  there  ain't  never  come 
out  yet." 

"Everybody  but  one,"  Rudnik  said  as  he  seized 
his  cane,  and  raising  himself  from  the  chair  he 
hobbled  to  the  door. 

"Blooma  leben,"  he  cried,  throwing  the  door  wide 


274       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

open;  and  in  response  Mrs.  Rudnik,  nee  Blooma 
Duckman,  entered. 

"Nu,  Belz,"  she  said,  "ain't  you  going  to  congradu- 
late  me?" 

Belz  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  his  wife's 
cousin  in  unaffected  astonishment,  while  Schindel- 
berger  noiselessly  opened  the  door  and  slid  out  of  the 
room  unnoticed. 

"And  so  you  run  away  from  the  Home  and  married 
this  Schnorrer  ?"  Belz  said  at  length. 

" Schnorrer  he  ain't,"  she  retorted,  "unless  you 
would  go  to  work  and  foreclose  the  house." 

"It  would  serve  you  right  if  I  did,"  Belz  rejoined. 

"Then  you  ain't  going  to?"  Mrs.  Rudnik  asked. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  he  ain't  going  to?"  Lesengeld 
interrupted.  "Ain't  I  got  nothing  to  say  here? 
Must  I  got  to  sacrifice  myself  for  Belz's  wife's 
relations  ? " 

"Koosh,  Lesengeld!"  Belz  exploded.  "You  take 
too  much  on  yourself.  Do  you  think  for  one  moment 
I  am  going  to  foreclose  that  mortgage  and  have  them 
two  old  people  schnorring  their  living  expenses  out  of 
me  for  the  rest  of  my  days,  just  to  oblige  you?  The 
mortgage  runs  at  6  per  cent.,  and  it's  going  to  con 
tinue  to  do  so.  Six  per  cent,  ain't  to  be  sneezed  at, 
neither." 

"And  ain't  he  going  to  pay  us  no  bonus  nor 
nothing?"  Lesengeld  asked  in  anguished  tones. 

"Bonus!"  Belz  cried;  "what  are  you  talking  about, 


THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WRITES    275 

bonus  ?  Do  you  mean  to  told  me  you  would  ask  an 
old  man  which  he  nearly  gets  killed  by  a  train  already 
a  bonus  yet?  Honestly,  Lesengeld,  I'm  surprised  at 
you.  The  way  you  talk  sometimes  it  ain't  no  wonder 
people  calls  us  second-mortgage  sharks." 

"But,  lookyhere,  Belz "  Lesengeld  began. 

"  'S  enough,  Lesengeld,"  Belz  interrupted.  "You're 
lucky  I  don't  ask  you  you  should  make  'em  a  wedding 
present  yet." 

"I  suppose,  Belz,  you're  going  to  make  'em  a 
wedding  present,  too,  ain't  it?"  Lesengeld  jeered. 

"That's  just  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  Belz  said  as  he 
turned  to  the  safe.  He  fumbled  round  the  middle  com 
partment  and  finally  produced  two  yellow  slips  of 
paper.  "I'm  going  to  give  'em  these  here  com 
position  notes  of  Schindelberger's,  and  with  what 
Blooma  knows  about  the  way  that  Rosher  is  running 
the  Bella  Hirshkind  Home  she  shouldn't  got  no 
difficulty  making  him  pay  up." 

He  handed  the  notes  to  Rudnik. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "sit  right  down  and  tell  us 
how  it  comes  that  you  and  Blooma  gets  married." 

For  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Rudnik  de 
scribed  the  details  of  his  meeting  with  Miss  Blooma 
Duckman,  together  with  his  hopes  and  aspirations 
for  the  future,  and  when  he  concluded  Belz  turned  to 
his  partner. 

"Ain't  it  funny  how  things  happens?"  he  said. 
"Honestly,  Lesengeld,  ain't  that  more  interesting 


276       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

than  most  things  you  could  see  it  on  a  moving  pic 
tures  ?" 

Lesengeld  nodded  sulkily. 

"It  sure  ought  to  be,"  he  said,  "because  to  go  on  a 
moving  pictures  you  pay  only  ten  cents,  dber  this  here 
story  costs  me  my  half  of  a  three-hundred-and-fifty- 
dollar  bonus.  However,  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  be 
grudge  it  'em.  I  seen  the  other  evening  a  fillum  by 
the  name  The  Return  of  Enoch  Aarons,  where  an 
old  feller  stands  outsideon  the  street  and  looks  through 
a  winder,  and  he  sees  a  happy  married  couple  mit 
children  sitting  in  front  of  a  fire.  So  I  says  to  my 
wife:  'Mommer/  I  says,  'if  that  old  snoozer  would 
only  get  married/  I  says,  'he  wouldn't  got  to  stand 
outside  winders  looking  at  other  people  having  a 
good  time/  I  says.  'He  would  be  enjoying  with  his 
own  wife  and  children/  I  says,  and  I  thinks  right 
away  of  Rudnik  here."  He  placed  his  hand  on  Rud- 
nik's  shoulder  as  he  spoke.  "But  now  Rudnik  is 
married,"  he  concluded,  "and  even  if  he  wouldn't  got 
children  he's  got  a  good  wife  anyhow,  which  it  stands 
in  the  Siddur  already — a  good  wife  is  more  valuable 
as  rubies." 

Rudnik  seized  the  hand  of  his  blushing  bride. 
"And,"  he  added,  "rubies  is  pretty  high  nowadays." 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 
COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN 

I  DON'T  know,  Mr.  Trinkmann,  what  comes  over 
you,  you  are  always  picking  on  me,"  Louis  Berk- 
field  said.  "Me,  I  am  doing  my  best  here." 

"You  are  doing  your  best  here,  Louis!"  Harris 
Trinkmann  exclaimed.  "Do  you  call  them  ash 
trays  doing  your  best?  They  got  on  them  Schmutz 
from  the  time  I  bought  'em  off  of  Dreiner  which  he 
busted  up  way  before  the  Spanish  War  already.  The 
knives  and  forks,  too,  Louis.  Do  you  think  it's  a 
pleasure  to  a  customer  when  he  is  eating  Kalbfleisch 
that  he  finds  on  his  fork  a  piece  of  Bismarck  herring 
from  last  night  already  ?  You  are  ruining  my  trade, 
Louis." 

"What  do  you  mean,  ruining  your  trade,  Mr. 
Trinkmann?"  Louis  rejoined.  "I  ain't  no  pantry 
man.  If  the  customers  complains  that  the  fork  got 
on  it  a  piece  Bismarck  herring,  that  is  from  the  pan 
tryman  a  Schuld.  What  have  I  got  to  do  with  her 
ring  on  the  forks?" 

"You  got  everything  to  do  with  it,"  Trinkmann 
declared.  "A  pantryman  is  a  feller  which  no  one 

277 


278       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

could  depend  upon,  otherwise  he  wouldn't  be  a  pan 
tryman,  Louis;  but  a  waiter,  that's  something  else 
again.  If  a  waiter  wouldn't  see  that  the  forks  ain't 
schmutzig,  who  would  see  it?  The  trouble  is  here 
nobody  takes  any  interest  at  all.  Me,  I  got  to  do 
everything  myself." 

Mr.  Trinkmann  returned  to  the  cashier's  desk  over 
which  Mrs.  Trinkmann  habitually  presided,  and  tak 
ing  a  cigarette  pen-fashion  twixt  thumb  and  fore 
finger,  he  lit  it  slowly  and  threw  away  the  match 
with  a  gesture  that  implied  more  strongly  than  words, 
"I  am  sick  and  tired  of  the  whole  business." 

The  fact  was  that  Mr.  Trinkmann  had  undergone 
that  morning  as  much  as  one  man  could  endure 
without  the  relief  that  profanity  affords.  To  be  pre 
cise,  only  three  hours  before,  Mrs.  Trinkmann  had 
presented  him  with  twins,  both  girls. 

"The  thing  has  got  to  stop  some  time,  Louis,"  he 
said,  as  he  came  from  behind  the  desk.  He  referred, 
however,  to  the  ashtrays  and  the  forks.  "  Either  you 
would  got  to  turn  around  a  new  leaf,  or  you  could 
act  like  a  slob  somewheres  else,  understand  me,  be 
cause  I  wouldn't  stand  for  it  here." 

"What  are  you  talking  nonsense — act  like  a  slob, 
Mr.  Trinkmann?"  Louis  cried.  "I  am  working  here 
for  you  now  six  years  next  Tishabav,  and  everybody 
which  comes  here  in  the  place  I  always  give  'em  good 
satisfaction." 

"You  got  too  swell  a  head,  Louis,"  Mr.  Trink- 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN       279 

mann  continued,  gaining  heat.  "You  would  think 
you  was  a  partner  here  the  way  you  act.  You  talk 
to  me  like  I  would  be  the  waiter  and  you  would  be  the 
boss.  What  do  you  think  I  am,  anyway?" 

"But,  Mr.  Trinkmann "  Louis  began. 

"Things  goes  from  bad  to  worst,"  Trinkmann  went 
on,  his  voice  rising  to  a  bellow.  "You  treat  me  like 
I  would  be  a  dawg." 

"Aber,     Mr.     Trinkmann,"     Louis     whimpered, 

«T » 

" Koosh!"  Trinkmann  shouted.  "I  got  enough  of 
your  Chutzpah.  I  am  through  with  you.  Comes 
three  o'clock  this  afternoon,  you  would  quit.  D'ye 
hear  me?" 

Louis  nodded.  He  would  have  made  some  articu 
late  protest,  but  his  Adam's  apple  had  suddenly 
grown  to  the  dimensions  of  a  dirigible  balloon;  and 
though  there  surged  through  his  brain  every  man 
ner  of  retort,  ironical  and  defiant,  he  could  think  of 
nothing  better  to  do  than  to  polish  the  ashtrays. 
Polishing  powder  and  rags  alone  could  not  have 
produced  the  dazzling  brilliancy  that  ensued.  It 
was  a  sense  of  injustice  that  lent  force  to  every  rub, 
and  when  he  began  to  clean  the  forks  Louis  imparted 
to  his  labour  all  the  energy  of  a  discharged  waiter 
wringing  his  employer's  neck. 

Before  he  had  half  concluded  his  task  the  other 
waiters  arrived,  for  Louis  was  but  one  of  a  staff  of 
three,  with  the  distinction  that  though  his  two  asso- 


280       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

dates  were  only  dinner  waiters,  Louis  served  break 
fast,  dinner,  and  supper.  Marcus,  the  elder  of 
the  two,  bore  a  brown-paper  package  with  an  air 
of  great  solemnity,  while  Albert,  his  companion, 
perspired  freely  in  spite  of  a  chill  March  air  blowing 
outside. 

"Mr.  Trinkmann,"  Marcus  began,  "Louis  tele 
phones  me  this  morning  which  you  got  a  couple  new 
arrivals  in  your  family  and 

"Louis!"  Trinkmann  roared,  and  Louis  in  response 
approached  the  desk  with  the  polishing  cloth  in  his 
hand.  "Do  you  mean  to  told  me  you  are  using  the 
telephone  without  asking  me  ? " 

"I  thought,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  Louis  hastened  to 
explain,  "that  so  long  you  got  in  your  family " 

"What  is  it  your  business  what  I  got  in  my  fam 
ily?"  Trinkmann  asked. 

Louis'  eyes  kindled  and  he  gave  free  play  to  his 
indignation. 

"  For  you  I  don't  care  at  all,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  he 
said,  "but  for  Mrs.  Trinkmann  which  she  is  always 
acted  to  us  like  a  lady,  understand  me,  I  am  tele 
phoning  Marcus  he  should  bring  with  him  a  few 
flowers,  Mr.  Trinkmann,  which  if  you  wouldn't  take 
'em  to  her,  we  could  easy  send  'em  up  by  a  messenger 
boy,  and  here  is  a  nickel  for  using  the  telephone." 

He  plunged  his  hand  into  his  trousers  pocket  and 
dashed  a  coin  on  to  the  desk.  Then,  reaching  behind 
him  with  both  hands,  he  untied  his  apron.  "Further- 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN        281 

more,"  he  said,  "I  wouldn't  wait  till  three  o'clock, 
Mr.  Trinkmann.  Give  me  my  money  and  I  would 
go  now." 

"Pick  up  that  apron,  Louis,"  Trinkmann  com 
manded,  "because,  so  sure  as  I  am  standing  here,  if 
you  wouldn't  wait  on  the  customers  till  three  o'clock 
I  wouldn't  pay  you  not  one  cent." 

"So  far  as  that  goes,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  Louis  com 
menced,  "I  ain't " 

"And  if  you  get  fresh  to  me  oder  to  the  customers, 
Louis,"  Trinkmann  concluded,  "you  wouldn't  get 
your  money,  neither." 

"Did  the  customers  ever  done  me  anything,  Mr. 
Trinkmann?"  Louis  retorted.  "Why  should  I  get 
fresh  to  the  customers  which  every  one  of  them  is  my 
friends,  Mr.  Trinkmann?  And  as  for  getting  fresh 
to  you,  Mr.  Trinkmann,  if  I  would  want  to  I  would. 
Otherwise  not." 

With  this  defiance  Louis  picked  up  his  polishing 
cloth  and  his  apron  and  proceeded  to  the  kitchen,  to 
which  Marcus  and  Albert  had  already  retreated. 
His  courage  remained  with  him  until  he  had  refast- 
ened  his  apron,  and  then  he  discerned  Marcus  and 
Albert  to  be  regarding  him  with  so  mournful  a  gaze 
that  the  balloon  again  expanded  in  his  throat,  and 
forthwith — to  pursue  the  simile  further — it  burst. 
He  opened  the  door  leading  from  the  kitchen  to  the 
paved  space  littered  with  packing  boxes,  which  had 
once  been  the  backyard,  and  despite  the  cold  March 


282       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

weather  he  stepped  outside  and  closed  the  door  be 
hind  him. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  first  luncheon  customer 
arrived  and  Louis  hastened  to  wait  upon  him.  It 
was  Max  Maikafer,  salesman  for  Freesam,  Mayer  & 
Co.,  and  he  greeted  Louis  with  the  familiarity  of  six 
years'  daily  acquaintance. 

"Nu,  Louis,"  he  said,  "what's  the  matter  you  are 
catching  such  a  cold  in  your  head?" 

Louis  only  sniffled  faintly  in  reply. 

"A  feller  bums  round  till  all  hours  of  the  night, 
understand  me,"  Max  continued,  "and  sooner  or 
later,  Louis,  a  lowlife — a  Shikkerer — gives  him  a 
Schlag  on  the  top  from  the  head,  verstehest  du,  and  he 
would  got  worser  as  a  cold,  Louis." 

Louis  received  this  admonition  with  a  nod,  since  he 
was  incapable  of  coherent  speech. 

"So,  therefore,  Louis,"  Max  concluded,  as  he 
looked  in  a  puzzled  fashion  at  Louis'  puffed  eyelids, 
"you  should  bring  me  some  Kreploch  soup  and  a 
little  gefullte  Rinderbrust,  not  too  much  gravy." 

He  watched  Louis  retire  to  the  kitchen  and  then  he 
motioned  to  Albert,  who  was  industriously  polishing 
the  glasses  at  a  nearby  table. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Louis,  Albert?"  he 
asked. 

"Fired,"  Albert  said  out  of  the  corner  of  his  mouth, 
with  one  eye  on  the  cashier's  desk,  where  Mr.  Trink- 
mann  was  fast  approaching  the  borderline  of  insan- 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN        283 

ity  over  a  maze  of  figures  representing  the  previous 
day's  receipts. 

"What  for?  "Max  asked. 

"I  should  know  what  for!"  Albert  exclaimed. 
"The  boss  is  mad  on  account  he  got  twins,  so  he 
picks  on  Louis  that  the  ashtrays  ain't  clean  and  the 
forks,  neither.  So  Louis  he  don't  say  nothing,  and 
Trinkmann  gets  mad  and  fires  him." 

He  glanced  furtively  at  the  cashier's  desk  just  as 
Trinkmann  suddenly  tore  up  his  paperful  of  figures, 
and  in  one  frightened  bound  Albert  was  once  more  at 
his  glass  polishing. 

"Well,  Trinkmann,"  Max  cried,  as  he  made  ready 
to  absorb  the  soup  by  tucking  one  corner  of  his  nap 
kin  into  the  top  of  his  collar,  "I  must  got  to  congrad- 
ulate  you." 

Trinkmann  was  on  his  way  to  the  kitchen  for  the 
purpose  of  abusing  the  pantryman  as  a  measure  of 
relief  to  his  figure-harried  brain.  He  paused  at 
Max's  table  and  distorted  his  face  in  what  he  con 
ceived  to  be  an  amiable  grin. 

"No  one  compels  you  to  congradulate  me,  Mr. 
Maikafer,"  he  said,  "and,  anyhow,  Mr.  Maikafer, 
with  business  the  way  it  is,  understand  me,  twins 
ain't  such  Simcha,  neither." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Max  rejoined;  "but  so  far  as  I 
could  see,  Trinkmann,  you  ain't  got  no  kick  coming. 
You  do  a  good  business  here.  You  got  three  good 
waiters  and  the  customers  don't  complain  none." 


284       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Don't  they?"  Trinkmann  grunted. 

"Not  at  the  waiters,  Trinkmann,"  Max  said  sig 
nificantly.  "And  the  food  is  all  right,  too,  Trink 
mann.  The  only  thing  is,  Trinkmann,  when  a  fel 
ler  got  a  nice  gemutlicher  place  like  you  got  it  here, 
y'understand,  he  should  do  his  bestest  that  he  keeps 
it  that  way." 

Trinkmann's  smile  became  a  trifle  Jess  forced  at 
Max's  use  of  the  adjective  gemutlicher^  for  which  the 
English  language  has  no  just  equivalent,  since  it  at 
once  combines  the  meanings  of  cozy,  comfortable, 
good-natured,  and  homelike. 

"Certainly,  I  am  always  trying  to  keep  my  place 
gemutlichy  Mr.  Maikafer,"  Trinkmann  declared,  "but 
when  you  got  waiters,  Mr.  Maikafer,  which  they " 

"Waiters  ain't  got  nothing  to  do  with  it,  Trink 
mann,"  Max  interrupted.  "On  Sutter  Avenue, 
Brownsville,  in  boom  times  already  was  a  feller — 
still  a  good  friend  of  mine — by  the  name  Ringentaub, 
which  runs  a  restaurant,  Trinkmann,  and  everybody 
goes  there  on  account  he  keeps -a  place  which  you 
could  really  say  was  gemutlich.  The  chairs  was  old- 
fashioned,  mit  cane  seats  into  'em,  which  they  sagged 
in  the  right  place,  so  that  if  you  was  sitting  down, 
y* understand,  you  knew  you  was  sitting  down,  not 
like  some  chairs  which  I  seen  it  in  restaurants, 
Trinkmann,  which  if  you  was  sitting  down,  you  might 
just  as  well  be  standing  up  for  all  the  comfort  you  get 
out  of  it." 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN       285 

"The  chairs  here  is  comfortable,"  Trinkmann  re 
marked. 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Max  continued.  "Then  in  this 
here  restaurant  was  tables  which  they  only  got  'em  in 
the  old  country — big,  heavy  tables,  understand  me, 
which  you  pretty  near  kill  yourself  trying  to  move 
'em  at  all.  A  feller  sits  at  such  a  table,  Trinkmann, 
and  right  away  he  thinks  he  must  drink  a  cup  coffee; 
and  not  alone  that,  Trinkmann,  but  he  must  got  to 
order  coffee  for  the  crowd.  He  couldn't  even  help 
himself,  Trinkmann,  because  such  a  table  makes  you 
feel  good  to  look  at  it.  That's  what  it  is  to  keep  a 
gemutlicher  place,  Trinkmann." 

Trinkmann  nodded  and  sat  down  at  Max's  table. 

"Furthermore,  Trinkmann,"  Max  continued, 
"everything  in  the  place  was  the  same.  The  ash 
trays  was  from  brass  like  them  there  ashtrays  you 
used  to  got  here,  Trinkmann." 

Max  looked  meaningly  at  the  burnished  brass 
utensil  that  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  table. 

"That's  the  same  ashtrays  which  we  always  got 
here,"  Trinkmann  retorted. 

"Are  they?"  Max  said.  "Well,  somebody  must  of 
done  something  to  'em  on  account  they  don't  look  so 
gemutlich  no  longer.  That's  the  same  mistake  Rin- 
gentaub  made  it,  Trinkmann.  He  ain't  satisfied  he  is 
got  such  a  big  trade  there,  Trinkmann,  but  he  must 
go  to  work  and  get  a  partner,  a  feller  by  the  name 
Salonkin,  which  he  pays  Ringentaub  two  thousand 


286        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

dollars  for  a  half  interest  in  the  business.  Salonkin 
is  one  of  them  fellers,  understand  me,  which  is  all  for 
improvements,  Trinkmann.  Gemiitlichkeit  is  some 
thing  which  he  don't  know  nothing  about  at  all, 
y'understand,  and  the  first  thing  you  know,  Trink 
mann,  Salonkin  says  the  chairs  is  back  numbers.  He 
fires  'em  right  out  of  there,  understand  me,  and  buys 
some  new  chairs,  which  actually  for  a  thin  man  to  sit 
on  'em  for  five  minutes  even  would  be  something 
which  you  could  really  call  dangerous.  Also  the 
tables  Salonkin  says  is  junk,  so  he  sells  'em  for  fifty 
cents  apiece  and  puts  in  them  marble-top  tables  like  a 
lot  of  tombstones  in  a  cemetery." 

"Marble-top  tables  is  anyhow  clean,"  Trinkmann 
declared. 

"Clean  they  may  be,"  Max  admitted,  "but  ge- 
mutlich  they  ain't.  And,  anyhow,  Trinkmann,  do  you 
know  what  started  the  whole  trouble  there?" 

Trinkmann  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  it  was  the  forks,"  Max  said  solemnly.  "The 
forks  which  Ringentaub  got  it  before  he  goes  as  part 
ners  together  with  Salonkin  always  looks  like  they 
would  be  a  little  dirty,  understand  me.  So  what  does 
the  customer  do,  Trinkmann?  They  take  first  thing 
after  they  sit  down  the  fork  in  hand,  understand  me, 
and  dip  it  in  the  glass  of  water  which  the  waiter  brings 
'em.  Then  when  the  time  comes  which  they  want  to 
drink  the  water,  Trinkmann,  they  remember  they 
cleaned  the  fork  in  it  and  they  order  instead  a  glass 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN        287 

beer.  Afterward  when  Salonkin  takes  ahold  there, 
y'understand,  he  raises  hell  with  the  waiters  they 
should  keep  clean  the  forks,  which  they  done  it, 
Trinkmann,  because  the  feller  Salonkin  was  a  regular 
Rosher,  understand  me,  and  the  waiters  is  scared  to 
death  of  him.  What  is  the  result,  Trinkmann  ?  The 
sales  of  beer  right  away  drops  to  nothing,  understand 
me,  and  everybody  drinks  the  glass  water  instead." 

At  this  juncture  Trinkmann  looked  up  and  ob 
served  Albert  at  work  on  the  tumblers. 

"Albert ! "  he  cried.  " Leave  the  glasses  alone,  d'ye 
hear  me?" 

Albert  put  down  the  glass  he  was  wiping  and 
commenced  to  rub  the  knives  and  forks,  whereat 
Trinkmann  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"The  forks,  neither,"  he  yelled.  "Instead  you 
should  be  standing  there  wasting  your  time,  fill  up 
with  water  the  glasses  and  tell  Louis  never  mind,  he 
shouldn't  polish  any  more  them  ashtrays." 

When  Max  Maikafer  concluded  his  lunch  he  pro 
ceeded  at  once  to  the  cashier's  desk,  over  which  Trink 
mann  himself  presided. 

"Cheer  up,  Trinkmann,"  he  said,  as  he  paid  his 
check.  "You  got  a  face  so  solemn  like  a  rich  uncle 
just  died  and  left  you  to  remember  him  by  a  crayon 
portrait." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Maikafer,"  Trinkmann 
said,  "I  got  all  I  could  stand  to-day.  Not  alone  my 


288        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

wife  goes  to  work  and  has  twins  on  me,  Mr.  Maikafer, 
but  I  also  got  to  fire  a  feller  which  is  working  for  me 
here  six  years." 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  Max  cried  in  well-feigned 
astonishment.  "You  are  going  to  fire  Albert  ? " 

"Not  Albert,"  Trinkmann  said;  "Louis." 

"Why,  what  did  Louis  done?"  Max  asked. 

"He  done  enough,  Mr.  Maikafer,"  Trinkmann 
replied.  "Here  lately  he  gets  to  acting  so  fresh  you 
would  think  he  owns  the  place." 

"Well,  why  not?"  Max  commented.  "After  all, 
Trinkmann,  you  got  to  give  Louis  credit;  he  works 
hard  here  and  he  keeps  for  you  many  a  customer. 
Because  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  Trinkmann, 
which  I  am  only  saying  it  for  your  own  good,  under 
stand  me — there's  lots  of  times  you  are  acting  so 
grouchy  to  the  customers  that  if  it  wouldn't  be  Louis 
smoothes  'em  down  they  wouldn't  come  near  your 
place  at  all." 

"What  the  devil  are  you  talking  about?"  Trink 
mann  shouted.  "If  you  wasn't  such  a  big  fool  you 
would  know  I  am  always  polite  to  my  customers. 
Furthermore,  I  never  lost  a  customer  since  I  am  in 
business,  and  if  you  don't  like  the  way  I  run  my 
restaurant  you  don't  got  to  come  here.  That's 
all." 

Maikafer  nodded  as  he  pocketed  his  change. 

"All  right,  Trinkmann,"  he  said.  "  But  you  know 
what  happens  when  a  concern  lets  a  salesman  go. 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN       289 

He  easy  finds  a  partner  and  starts  to  do  business  with 
his  old  firm's  customers  on  his  own  account." 

Trinkmann  laughed  aloud. 

"That  Schnorrer  ain't  got  money  enough  to  stock 
a  pushcart,  let  alone  a  restaurant,"  he  jeered. 

"That's  all  right,"  Maikafer  retorted.  "I  know  a 
feller  which  runs  for  years  a  place  in  East  New  York 
— Brownsville — Trinkmann,  and  when  he  hears  Louis 
ain't  working,  not  only  he  would  be  glad  to  give 
him  a  job  as  waiter,  but  he  would  stake  him  to  an 
interest  in  the  restaurant  yet." 

Trinkmann  flapped  his  right  hand  at  Maikafer  in  a 
gesture  of  derision. 

"  Schmooes!"  he  cried. 

"No  Schmooes  at  all,"  Max  said,  as  he  passed  out  of 
the  door.  "  He's  the  feller  I  am  talking  to  you  about 
by  the  name  Ringentaub,  and  across  the  street  is 
plenty  vacant  stores." 

Ten  minutes  after  Max  had  departed  Simon  Fein- 
silver  entered. 

"Say,  Trinkmann,"  he  asked,  as  he  paused  at  the 
cashier's  desk  on  his  way  to  one  of  Louis'  tables,  "did 
you  seen  it  Max  Maikafer  this  morning?" 

Had  Trinkmann  scrutinized  Simon's  face  with  any 
degree  of  care  he  might  have  observed  a  mischievous 
gleam  in  Simon's  eyes;  but  at  the  mere  mention  of 
Maikafer's  name  Trinkmann  exploded. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  did  I  seen  it  Maikafer?"  he 
demanded. 


29o       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Why  I  just  asked  you,"  Simon  said  calmly,  "on 
account  he  was  to  meet  me  at  my  office  and  he  ain't 
showed  up  at  all." 

"Well,  I  ain't  surprised  to  hear  that,  Mr.  Fein- 
silver,"  Trinkmann  rejoined  less  viciously.  "Be 
cause  even  if  Maikafer  is  such  a  good  friend  of  yours, 
the  feller  is  so  busy  with  other  people's  business,  what 
he  ain't  got  no  business  to  butt  in  at  all,  that  his  own 
business  he  lets  go  to  the  devil.  Am  I  right  or  wrong  ?" 

Simon  nodded  and  sat  down  at  one  of  Louis'  tables. 

"Albeit,"  Trinkmann  cried,  "wait  on  Mr.  Fein- 
silver." 

"That's  all  right,"  Feinsilver  declared;  "I  got 
plenty  time." 

"Albert,"  Trinkmann  repeated,  "take  Mr.  Fein- 
silver's  order." 

Albert  left  his  station  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room  and  approached  Feinsilver  with  a  conciliatory 
smile. 

"What  would  you  like  to-day,  Mr.  Feinsilver?"  he 
said. 

"I  would  like  Louis,"  Feinsilver  replied;  "so  go 
ahead,  Albeit,  and  tell  Louis  when  he  gets  through 
serving  those  two  fellers  over  there  to  wait  on  me." 

"What's  the  matter  you  ain't  giving  your  order  to 
Albeit,  Mr.  Feinsilver?"  Trinkmann  asked. 

"Albert  is  all  right,"  Feinsilver  replied,  "but  Louis 
knows  just  how  I  want  things,  Trinkmann.  You 
ain't  got  no  objections  to  me  waiting  for  Louis?" 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN        291 

"Why  should  I  got  objections,  Mr.  Feinsilver ? " 
Trinkmann  protested. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  got  objections, 
Trinkmann,"  Feinsilver  said,  "and  if  you  did  got  'em 
I  would  wait  for  Louis  anyway." 

He  closed  the  discussion  by  spearing  half  a  dill 
pickle  with  a  fork  and  inserting  it  endwise  in  his 
mouth.  Hardly  had  the  metal  tines  touched  his  lips, 
however,  than  he  hastily  disgorged  the  pickle  and 
uttered  a  resounding  "T'phoo-ee!" 

"What  are  you  trying  to  do  here  to  me,  Trink 
mann  ? "  he  demanded.  "  Poison  me  ? " 

He  dipped  his  napkin  into  the  glass  of  water  that 
stood  on  the  table  and  performed  an  elaborate  prophy 
laxis  about  his  mouth  and  teeth. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  poison  you?"  Trinkmann  cried. 

"Why,  there  is  something  here  on  the  fork,"  Simon 
declared. 

"Let  me  see,"  Trinkmann  said,  advancing  to  the 
table;  "might  it  be  some  Bismarck  herring,  maybe." 

"Bismarck  herring  ain't  poison,"  Feinsilver  said, 
examining  the  fork  closely.  "  Bismarck  herring  never 
harmed  nobody,  Trinkmann;  but  this  here  fork  has 
got  poison  onto  it." 

He  turned  it  over  in  his  hand  and  sniffed  at  it 
suspiciously. 

"Why,  bless  my  soul,"  he  roared.  "Somebody 
has  been  cleaning  it  with  polishing  powder." 

"  Well,  suppose  they  did  ? "  Trinkmann  said  calmly. 


292       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Suppose  they  did!"  Simon  exclaimed.  "Why, 
don't  you  know  you  should  never  clean  with  polishing 
powder  something  which  it  could  touch  a  person's 
lips  ?  A  friend  of  mine,  by  the  name  Lambdan,  once 
puts  his  cigar  onto  an  ashtray  which  they  are  cleaning 
it  with  this  powder,  and  the  widder  sues  in  the  courts 
the  feller  that  runs  the  restaurant  for  ten  thousand 
dollars  yet.  From  just  putting  the  cigar  in  his  mouth 
he  gets  some  of  the  powder  on  his  tongue,  Trinkmann, 
and  in  two  hours,  understand  me,  he  turned  black 
all  over.  It  ruined  the  restaurant  man — a  decent, 
respectable  feller  by  the  name  Lubliner.  His  mother 
was  Max  Maikafer's  cousin." 

Trinkmann  grew  pale  and  started  for  the  kitchen. 

"Albert,"  he  said  huskily,  "take  from  the  tables 
the  ashtrays  and  the  forks  and  tell  that  pantryman  he 
should  wash  'em  off  right  away  in  boiling  water." 

He  followed  Albeit,  and  after  he  had  seen  that  his 
instructions  were  obeyed  he  returned  to  the  desk.  In 
the  meantime  Simon  had  engaged  Louis  in  earnest 
conversation. 

"Louis,"  Simon  said,  "I  am  just  seeing  Max 
Maikafer,  and  he  says  you  shouldn't  worry,  because 
you  wouldn't  lose  your  job  at  all." 

"No?"  Louis  replied.  "What  for  I  wouldn't?  I 
am  going  to  get  fired  this  afternoon  sure,  three 
o'clock." 

"Never  mind,"  Simon  declared,  "you  shouldn't  let 
him  make  you  no  bluffs,  Louis.  Not  only  he  wouldn't 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN       293 
fire  you,  Louis,  but  I  bet  yer  he  gives  you  a  raise 


even." 


Louis  nodded  despairingly. 

"A  couple  of  kidders  like  you  and  Mr.  Maikafer 
ain't  got  no  regards  for  nobody,"  he  said.  "Maybe 
it  is  a  joke  for  you  and  Mr.  Maikafer  that  I  get  fired, 
Mr.  Feinsilver,  but  for  me  not,  I  could  assure  you." 

"I  ain't  kidding  you,  Louis,"  Simon  declared. 
"  Keep  a  good  face  on  you,  Louis,  and  don't  let  on  I 
said  something  to  you.  But  you  could  take  it  from 
me,  Louis,  comes  three  o'clock  this  afternoon  you 
should  go  to  the  boss  and  say  you  are  ready  to  quit. 
Then  the  boss  says  no,  you  should  stay." 

"Yow!     He  would  say  that!"  Louis  said  bitterly. 

"Surest  thing  you  know,  Louis,"  Simon  rejoined 
solemnly.  "Me  and  Max  will  fix  it  sure.  And  after 
the  boss  says  you  should  stay  you  tell  him  no,  you  guess 
you  wouldn't.  Tell  him  you  know  lots  of  people  would 
hire  you  right  away  at  two  dollars  a  week  more,  and  I 
bet  yer  he  would  be  crazy  to  make  you  stay;  and  if  he 
wouldn't  pay  you  the  two  dollars  a  week  more  I  would, 
so  sure  I  am  he  would  give  it  to  you." 

It  was  then  that  Trinkmann  returned  to  the 
cashier's  desk,  and  Louis  moved  slowly  away  just  as 
the  telephone  bell  rang  sharply.  Trinkmann  jerked 
the  receiver  from  the  hook  and  delivered  himself  of 
an  explosive  "Hallo." 

"Hallo,"  said  a  bass  voice;  "is  this  Mr.  Trink 
mann?" 


294       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Yep,"  Trinkmann  replied. 

"I  would  like  to  speak  a  few  words  something  to  a 
waiter  which  is  working  for  you,  by  the  name  Louis 
Berkfield,"  the  voice  continued. 

InstantlyTrinkmann's  mind  reverted  to  Maikafer's 
parting  words. 

"Who  is  it  wants  to  talk  with  him?"  he  asked. 

"It  don't  make  no  difference,"  said  the  voice,  "be 
cause  he  wouldn't  recognize  my  name  at  all." 

"No?"  Trinkmann  retorted.  "Well,  maybe  he 
would  and  maybe  he  wouldn't,  Mr.  Ringentaub;  but 
people  which  they  got  the  gall  to  ring  up  my  waiters 
and  steal  'em  away  from  me  in  business  hours  yet, 
Mr.  Ringentaub,  all  I  could  say  is  that  it  ain't 
surprising  they  busted  up  in  Brownsville.  Further 
more,  Mr.  Ringentaub,  if  you  think  you  could  hire 
one  of  them  stores  acrosst  the  street  and  open  up  a 
gemiitlicher  place  with  Louis  for  a  waiter,  y'under- 
stand,  go  ahead  and  try,  but  you  couldn't  do  it  over 
my  'phone." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  so  forcibly  that  the  impact 
threw  down  eight  boxes  of  the  finest  cigars. 

"Louis,"  he  shouted,  and  in  response  Louis  ap 
proached  from  the  back  of  the  restaurant. 

"I  am  here,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  Louis  said,  with  a 
slight  tremor  in  his  tones. 

"Say,  lookyhere,  Louis,"  Trinkmann  continued, 
"to-morrow  morning  first  thing  you  should  ring  up 
Greenberg  &  Company  and  tell  'em  to  call  and  fetch 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN       295 

away  them  eight  boxes  cigars.  What,  do  them 
people  think  I  would  be  a  sucker  all  my  life  ?  They 
stock  me  up  mit  cigars  till  I  couldn't  move  around  at 
all." 

"But,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  Louis  protested,  "this 
afternoon  three  o'clock  you  are  telling  me " 

"  Koosh!"  Trinkmann  roared,  and  Louis  fell  back 
three  paces;  "don't  you  answer  me  back.  Ain't  you 
got  no  respect  at  all  ? " 

Louis  made  no  reply,  but  slunk  away  to  the  rear  of 
the  restaurant. 

"Schlemiel!"  Simon  hissed,  as  Louis  passed  him. 
"Why  don't  you  stand  up  to  him?" 

Louis  shrugged  hopelessly  and  continued  on  to 
the  kitchen,  while  Simon  concluded  his  meal  and 
paid  his  check. 

"You  didn't  told  me  if  you  seen  Max  Maikafer 
to-day?"  he  said,  as  he  pocketed  a  handful  of  tooth 
picks. 

"I  didn't  got  to  told  you  whether  I  did  oder  I 
didn't,"  Trinkmann  replied,  "  but  one  thing  I  will  tell 
you,  Mr.  Feinsilver — I  am  running  here  a  restaurant, 
not  a  lumber  yard." 

At  ten  minutes  to  three  Trinkmann  stood  behind 
the  cashier's  desk,  so  thoroughly  enmeshed  in  the  in 
tricacies  of  his  wife's  bookkeeping  that  not  even  a 
knowledge  of  conic  sections  would  have  disentangled 
him.  For  the  twentieth  time  he  added  a  column  of 


296        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

figures  and,  having  arrived  at  the  twentieth  different 
result,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  looked  out  of  the 
window  for  inspiration.  What  little  composure  re 
mained  to  him,  however,  fled  at  the  sight  of  Max 
Maikafer,  who  stood  talking  to  a  stout  person  arrayed 
in  a  fur  overcoat.  As  they  conversed,  Max's  gaze 
constantly  reverted  to  the  restaurant  door,  as  though 
he  awaited  the  appearance  of  somebody  from  that 
quarter,  while  the  man  in  the  fur  overcoat  made 
gestures  toward  a  vacant  store  across  the  street. 
He  was  a  stout  man  of  genial,  hearty  manner,  and 
it  seemed  to  Trinkmann  that  he  could  discern  on 
the  fur  overcoat  an  imaginary  inscription  reading: 
"  Macht's  euch  gemiitlich  hier" 

Trinkmann  came  from  behind  the  desk  and  pro 
ceeded  to  the  rear  of  the  restaurant,  where  Louis  was 
cleaning  up  in  company  with  Marcus  and  Albert. 

"Louis,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  you  should  go  into 
the  kitchen  and  tell  that  pantryman  he  should  wash 
again  the  forks  in  hot  water,  and  stay  there  till  he  is 
through.  D'ye  hear  me?" 

Louis  nodded  and  Trinkmann  walked  hurriedly  to 
the  store  door.  He  threw  it  wide  open,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  lover  in  a  Palais  Royal  farce  who  ex 
pects  to  find  a  prying  maidservant  at  the  keyhole. 

Maikafer  stood  directly  outside,  but,  far  from  being 
embarrassed  by  Trinkmann's  sudden  exit,  he  remained 
completely  undisturbed  and  greeted  the  restaurateur 
with  calm  urbanity. 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN       297 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  he  said,  "ain't 
it  a  fine  weather?" 

Trinkmann  choked  in  mingled  rage  and  indignation, 
and  before  he  could  sufficiently  compose  himself  to 
sort  out  an  enunciable  phrase  from  all  the  profanity 
that  surged  to  his  lips  Maikafer  had  brought  forward 
the  man  in  the  fur  overcoat. 

"This  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Ringentaub,"  he  said,  "also 
in  the  restaurant  business." 

"I'm  pleased  to  meet  your  acquaintance,"  Mr. 
Ringentaub  said.  "Before  I  got  through  talking  with 
you  on  the  'phone  this  morning  some  one  cut  us 
off." 

At  this  juncture  Trinkmann's  pent-up  emotion 
found  expression. 

"Away  from  here,"  he  bellowed,  after  he  had  ut 
tered  a  highly  coloured  preamble,  "away  from  here, 
the  both  of  youse,  before  I  call  a  policeman  and  make 
you  arrested!" 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  Maikafer  inter 
rupted,  "do  you  got  a  lease  on  the  sidewalk,  too?" 

"Never  mind  what  I  got  a  lease  on,"  Trinkmann 
said.  "You  are  coming  around  here  trying  to  steal 
away  my  waiters  and " 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  Max  said.  "We 
are  not  trying  to  steal  away  your  waiters  at  all.  Mr. 
Ringentaub  here  is  a  gentleman,  even  if  some  people 
which  is  in  the  restaurant  business  don't  act  that  way, 
Mr.  Trinkmann;  but  as  you  told  me  yourself,  Mr. 


298       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Trinkmann,  you  are  firing  Louis  and  he's  going  to  quit 
you  at  three  o'clock;  and  as  it  is  now  five  minutes 
to  three " 

"Who  is  going  to  quit  me  at  three  o'clock?"  Trink 
mann  demanded. 

"Louis  is,"  Maikafer  said. 

"That's  where  you  make  a  big  mistake,"  Trink 
mann  cried.  "Louis  ain't  going  to  quit  me  at  all. 
Here,  I'll  show  you." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  restaurant. 

"Come  inside,  Mr.  Ringentaub,"  he  said  excitedly. 
"No  one  is  going  to  harm  you.  Come  right  inside, 
and  I'll  show  you  suckers  you  are  mistaken." 

He  closed  the  door  after  them  and  almost  ran  to  the 
kitchen. 

"Louis,"  he  said,  "come  here;  I  want  to  talk  a  few 
words  something  to  you." 

He  grabbed  Louis  by  the  arm  and  led  him  to  the 
cashier's  desk,  where  Maikafer  and  his  companion 
were  standing. 

"Louis,"  he  said,  "tell  these  gentlemen  didn't  I 
told  you  you  should  ring  up  sure  to-morrow  morning 
Greenberg  &  Company  about  the  cigars?" 

Louis  nodded  and  Trinkmann  glared  triumphantly 
at  his  visitors. 

"Then  if  I  told  him  to  ring  up  Greenberg  & 
Company  about  the  cigars  to-morrow  morning, 
understand  me,"  he  cried,  "how  could  it  be  possible 
that  he  quits  me  this  afternoon  ? " 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN        299 

"But,  Mr.  Trinkmann,"  Louis  protested,  "you  did 
told  me  I  should  quit  this  afternoon." 

"Dummer  Eseli  "  Trinkmann  exclaimed.  "Couldn't 
I  open  my  mouth  in  my  own  restaurant  at  all?" 

"Well,  if  that's  the  case,"  Ringentaub  said,  "then 
Louis  could  come  to  work  by  me.  Ain't  that  right, 
Louis?" 

Louis  looked  at  Max  Maikafer,  whose  right  eyelid 
fluttered  encouragingly. 

"And  I  would  pay  him  twenty-eight  dollars  a 
month,"  Ringentaub  continued,  "and  guarantee  to 
keep  him  a  year.  Is  that  satisfactory,  Louis?" 

Louis'  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  but 
he  managed  to  enunciate  a  monosyllable  of  assent. 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Ringentaub,"  Trinkmann 
declared;"!  would  pay  him  thirty  dollars  a  month  and 
keep  him  for  a  year  and  longer  if  he  wants  to  stay." 

Louis'  gaze  wandered  from  Max  Maikafer  to  Trink 
mann,  and  his  lower  lip  jutted  out  and  trembled  with 
gratitude. 

"  I  mean  it,  Louis,"  Trinkmann  declared.  "  I  mean 
it  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

"Then  in  that  case,  Louis,"  Ringentaub  retorted, 
"I  would  give  you  thirty-two  fifty  a  month." 

Louis  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  working  here  by  Mr.  Trinkmann  six  years 
come  this  Tishabav"  he  replied,  "  and  even  if  he  would 
only  say  twenty-eight  dollars  I  would  of  stayed  any 
way." 


3oo       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Max  Maikafer  turned  disgustedly  to  Ringentaub. 
"Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  for  a  fool?"  he  said. 

"Never  mind,  Maikafer,"  Trinkmann  interrupted, 
"even  if  he  would  be  satisfied  with  twenty-eight  I 
wouldn't  go  back  on  my  word.  I  will  pay  him  thirty 
dollars  a  month,  and,  furthermore,  Maikafer,  you 
will  see  if  he  stays  by  me  a  year  and  does  his  work 
good,  maybe — who  knows — I  would  even  pay  him 
more  yet." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Louis,  who  grabbed  it 
effusively. 

"When  a  feller's  wife  goes  to  work  and  has  twins  on 
him,  Louis,"  he  continued,  "he  ain't  responsible  for 
whathe  saysexactly.  Especially  if  they're  both  girls." 

Three  weeks  later  Mrs.  Trinkmann  sat  behind  the 
cashier's  desk,  awaiting  the  luncheon  customers,  and 
her  eye  wandered  to  the  vacant  store  across  the  street 
at  the  very  moment  when  a  wagon  backed  up  against 
the  curb  and  the  driver  and  his  helper  unloaded  two 
large  signs. 

"Trinkmann,"  Mrs.  Trinkmann  called,  "some  one 
rents  the  store  acrosst  the  street." 

Trinkmann  hastened  to  the  door  and  glanced 
nervously  toward  the  two  signs.  Beads  of  perspi 
ration  sprang  out  on  his  forehead  as  he  discerned  the 
lettering  on  one  of  the  signboards,  which  read  as 
follows : 

FELIX  RINGENTAUB 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN        301 

He  uttered  a  faint  groan  and  was  about  to  com 
municate  to  Mrs.  Trinkmann  the  melancholy  tidings 
that  a  rival  establishment  had  come  into  being,  when 
the  driver  and  his  helper  turned  over  the  second  sign. 
It  contained  the  words: 

TAILORS'  AND  DRESSMAKERS'  TRIMMINGS 

Hardly  had  Trinkmann  recovered  from  his  astonish 
ment  when  Felix  Ringentaub  himself  came  hurriedly 
down  the  street,  accompanied  by  Max  Maikafer.  A 
moment  later  they  entered  the  restaurant. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Trinkmann?"  Max 
cried,  "How's  the  twins?" 

"Getting  on  fine,"  Mrs.  Trinkmann  said. 

"Shake  hands  with  my  friend,  Mr.  Ringentaub," 
Max  continued,  as  he  looked  meaningly  at  Trink 
mann.  "Mr.  Ringentaub,  up  to  a  couple  of  weeks 
since,  used  to  was  in  the  restaurant  business  in 
Brownsville.  He  goes  now  into  the  tailors'  and  dress 
makers'  trimmings  business  instead." 

Trinkmann  maintained  a  discreet  silence  and  led 
them  to  one  of  Louis'  tables.  There  he  sat  down  with 
them,  for  he  was  determined  to  get  at  the  heart  of  the 
mystery. 

"Mr.  Maikafer "  he  began,  but  Max  held  up 

his  hand  protestingly. 

"Ask  me  no  questions,  Trinkmann,"  he  said,  "and 
I  wouldn't  tell  you  no  lies.  But  one  thing  I  will  say, 


302       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Trinkmann,  and  that  is  that  Louis  didn't  know 
nothing  about  it.  We  conned  you  into  keeping  him 
and  raising  his  wages.  That's  all.  Am  I  right  or 
wrong,  Ringentaub?" 

Ringentaub  made  no  reply.  He  was  holding  a  fork 
in  his  hand  and  examining  it  critically. 

"Of  course,  Trinkmann,"  he  said,  "I  don't  want  to 
say  nothing  the  first  time  I  am  coming  into  your 
place,  but  this  here  fork's  got  onto  it  something  which 
it  looks  like  a  piece  Bismarck  herring." 

"Don't  take  it  so  particular,  Ringentaub,"  Mai- 
kafer  said,  blushing  guiltily.  "Wash  it  off  in  the  glass 


water." 


"A  glass  water  you  drink,  Maikafer,"  Ringentaub 
rejoined,  "and  forks  should  be  washed  in  the  kitchen. 
And,  furthermore,  Trinkmann,"  Ringentaub  said,  "it 
don't  do  no  harm  if  the  waiters  once  in  a  while  cleans 
with  polishing  powder  the  forks." 

"I  thought,  Maikafer,"  Trinkmann  said  in  funereal 
tones,  "you  are  telling  me  that  polishing  powder  is 
rank  poison." 

"7  didn't  told  you  that,"  Maikafer  replied.  "It 
was  Feinsilver  says  that." 

"Rank  poison!"  Ringentaub  exclaimed.  "Why, 
you  could  eat  a  ton  of  it." 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Maikafer  concluded;  "but  who 
wants  to  ? " 

He  turned  to  Louis,  who  had  approached  un 
observed.  "Bring  me  some  Kreploch  soup  and  a 


COERCING  MR.  TRINKMANN        303 

plate  gefiillte  Rinderbrust"  he  said,  "not  too  much 
gravy." 

"Give  me  the  same,"  Ringentaub  added,  as  he 
gazed  about  him  with  the  air  of  an  academician  at  a 
private  view.  "You  got  a  nice  gemutlicher  place  here, 
Mr.  Trinkmann,"  he  concluded,  "only  one  thing  you 
should  put  in." 

"What's  that?"  Trinkmann  asked. 

Maikafer  kicked  him  on  the  shins,  but  Ringentaub 
failed  to  notice  it. 

"Marble-top  tables,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  NINE 
"RUDOLPH  WHERE  HAVE  YOU  BEEN" 

A./  that  J.  Montgomery  Fieldstone  had  done  to 
make  his  name  a  theatrical  boarding-house 
hold  word  from  the  Pacific  Coast  to  Forty- 
sixth  Street  and  Seventh  Avenue  was  to  exercise  as  a 
producing  manager  nearly  one  tenth  of  the  judgment 
he  had  displayed  as  Jacob  M.  Fieldstone,  of  Field- 
stone  &  Gips,  waist  manufacturers;  and  he  voiced  his 
business  creed  in  the  following  words: 

"Now  listen  to  me,  kid,"  he  said,  "my  idea  has 
always  been  that,  no  matter  how  much  value  you 
give  for  the  money,  goods  don't  sell  themselves. 
Ain't  I  right?" 

Miss  Goldie  Raymond  nodded,  though  she  was 
wholly  absorbed  in  a  full-length  enlarged  photograph 
which  hung  framed  and  glazed  on  the  wall  behind 
Fieldstone's  desk.  She  looked  at  it  as  a  millionaire 
collector  might  look  at  a  Van  Dyck  he  had  recently 
acquired  from  an  impoverished  duke,  against  a  meet 
ing  of  protest  held  in  Trafalgar  Square.  Her  head 
was  on  one  side.  Her  lips  were  parted.  It  was  a 
portrait  of  Miss  Goldie  Raymond  as  Mitzi  in  the 

304 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU  BEEN"        305 

Viennese    knockout  of  two  continents — "Rudolph, 
Where  Have  You  Been." 

"Now  this  new  show  will  stay  on  Broadway  a  year 
and  a  half,  kid,"  Mr.  Fieldstone  proceeded,  "in  case  I 
get  the  right  people  to  push  it.  Therefore  I'm  offer 
ing  you  the  part  before  I  speak  to  any  one  else." 

"Any  one  else!"  Miss  Raymond  exclaimed.  "Well, 
you've  got  a  nerve,  after  all  I've  done  for  you  in 
'Rudolph'!" 

"Sure,  I  know,"  Fieldstone  said;  "but  you've  got 
to  hand  something  to  Sidney  Rossmore." 

"Him?"  Miss  Raymond  cried.  "Say,  Mont,  if  I 
had  to  play  opposite  him  another  season  I'd  go  back 
into  vaudeville." 

Fieldstone  began  to  perspire  freely.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  he  had  signed  Rossmore  for  the  new  show  that 
very  morning  after  an  all-night  discussion  in  Sam's, 
the  only  restaurant  enjoying  the  confidence  of  the  last 
municipal  administration. 

"Then  how  about  the  guy  that  wrote  the  music, 
Oskar  Schottlaender?"  he  protested  weakly.  "That 
poor  come-on  don't  draw  down  only  ten  thousand 
dollars  a  week  royalties  from  England,  France,  and 
America  alone!" 

"Of  course  if  you  ain't  going  to  give  me  any  credit 
for  what  I've  done "  Miss  Raymond  began. 

"Ain't  I  telling  you  you're  the  first  one  I  spoke  to 
about  this?"  Fieldstone  interrupted. 

"Oh,  is  that  so?"  Miss  Raymond  said.     "I  wonder 


306       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

you  didn't  offer  that  Vivian  Haig  the  part,  which  be 
fore  I  called  myself  after  a  highball  I'd  use  my  real 
name,  even  if  it  was  Katzberger." 

"I  told  you  before,  kid,  Vivian  Haig  goes  with  the 
Rudolph  Number  Two  Company  next  month  to  play 
the  same  part  as  she  does  now;  and  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do  it  ain't  no  better  than  walking  on  and  off  in  the 
second  act — that's  all." 

"Then  you'd  oughter  learn  her  to  walk,  Mont," 
Miss  Raymond  said  as  she  rose  from  her  chair.  "She 
fell  all  over  herself  last  night." 

"I  know  it,"  Fieldstone  said,  without  shifting  from 
his  desk.  "She  ain't  got  nothing  to  do  and  she  can't 
do  that!" 

Miss  Raymond  attempted  what  a  professional 
producer  had  told  her  was  a  bitter  laugh.  It  turned 
out  to  be  a  snort. 

"Well,  I  can't  stay  here  all  day  talking  about 
people  like  Haig,"  she  announced.  "I  got  a  date 
with  my  dressmaker  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"All  right,  Goldie,"  Fieldstone  said,  still  seated. 
"Take  care  of  yourself,  kid,  and  I'll  see  you  after  the 
show  to-night." 

He  watched  her  as  she  disappeared  through  the 
doorway  and  sighed  heavily — but  not  for  love,  be 
cause  the  domestic  habits  of  a  lifetime  in  the  waist 
business  are  not  to  be  so  easily  overcome.  Indeed, 
theatrical  beauty,  with  all  its  allurements,  reposed  in 
Fieldstone's  office  as  free  from  temptation  to  the 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU  BEEN"        307 

occupant  as  thousand-dollar  bills  in  a  paying-teller's 
cage. 

What  if  he  did  call  Miss  Goldie  Raymond  "kid"? 
He  meant  nothing  by  it.  In  common  with  all  other 
theatrical  managers  he  meant  nothing  by  anything  he 
ever  said  to  actors  or  playwrights,  unless  it  appeared 
afterward  that  he  ought  to  have  meant  it  and  would 
stand  to  lose  money  by  not  meaning  it. 

The  telephone  bell  rang  and  he  lifted  the  receiver 
from  its  hook. 

"  Who  d'ye  say  ? "  he  said  after  a  pause.  "  Well,  see 
if  Raymond  is  gone  down  the  elevator,  and  if  it's  all 
right  tell  her  I'll  see  her." 

A  moment  later  a  side  door  opened — not  the  door 
by  which  Miss  Raymond  had  departed — and  a  young 
woman  of  determined  though  graceful  and  alluring 
deportment  entered. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "how  about  it,  Mont?  Do  I  get 
it  or  don't  I?" 

"Sit  down,  kid,"  Fieldstone  said,  himself  seated; 
for  he  had  not  risen  at  his  visitor's  entrance.  "How 
goes  it,  sweetheart?" 

It  is  to  be  understood  that  "sweetheart"  in  this  be 
half  had  no  more  significance  than  "kid."  It  was  a 
synonym  for  "kid"  and  nothing  else. 

"  Rossmore  says  you're  going  to  play  Raymond  in 
the  new  piece,"  she  went  on,  ignoring  his  question; 
"  and  you  know  you  told  me — — " 

"Now  listen  here,  kid,"  he  said,  "you  ain't  got  no 


3o8       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

kick  coming.  In  'Rudolph'  you've  got  a  part  that's 
really  the  meaty  part  of  the  whole  piece.  I  watched 
your  performance  from  behind  last  night,  kid,  and  I 
hope  I  may  die  if  I  didn't  say  to  Raymond  that  it  was 
immense  and  you  were  running  her  out  of  the 
business.  I  thought  she'd  throw  a  fit!" 

"Then  I  do  get  the  part  in  the  new  piece?"  Miss 
Vivian  Haig  insisted — for  it  was  none  other  than 
herself. 

"Well,  it's  like  this,"  Fieldstone  explained:  "If  you 
play  another  season  with  'Rudolph,'  and " 

Miss  Haig  waited  to  hear  no  more,  however.  She 
bowed  her  head  in  her  hands  and  burst  into  sobs;  and 
she  might  well  have  saved  herself  the  trouble,  for  to  J. 
Montgomery  Fieldstone  the  tears  of  an  actress  on  or 
off  were  only  "bus.  of  weeping."  He  lit  a  fresh  cigar, 
and  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  he  blew  the 
smoke  in  Miss  Haig's  direction  as  a  substitute  for 
smelling  salts  or  aromatic  spirits  of  ammonia.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  just  happened  to  be  facing  that  way. 

"Now  don't  do  that,  kid,"  he  said,  "because  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  if  there  was  anything  I  could 
do  for  the  daughter  of  Morris  Katzberger  I'd  do  it. 
Him  and  me  worked  as  cutters  together  in  the  old  days 
when  I  didn't  know  no  more  about  the  show  business 
than  Morris  does  to-day;  but  I  jumped  you  right 
from  the  chorus  into  the  part  of  Sonia  in  'Rudolph,' 
and  you  got  to  rest  easy  for  a  while,  kid." 

"I  g-got  notices  above  the  star,"  Miss  Haig  sobbed; 


CO 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU  BEEN"        309 

"and  you  told  popper  the  night  after  we  opened  in 
Atlantic  City  that  you  were  planning  to  give  me  a 
b-better  part  next  season." 

"Ain't  your  father  got  diabetes?"  Fieldstone  de 
manded.  "  What  else  would  I  tell  him  ? " 

"But  you  said  to  Sidney  Rossmore  that  if  I  could 
dance  as  well  as  I  sang  I'd  be  worth  two  hundred  and 
fifty  a  week  to  you." 

"I  said  a  hundred  and  fifty,"  Fieldstone  corrected; 
"and,  anyhow,  kid,  you  ain't  had  no  experience 
dancing." 

"Ain't  I?"  Miss  Haig  said.  She  flung  down  her 
pocketbook  and  handkerchief,  and  jumped  from  her 
seat.  "  Well,  just  you  watch  this ! " 

For  more  than  ten  minutes  she  postured,  leaped, 
and  pranced  by  turns,  while  Fieldstone  puffed  great 
clouds  of  smoke  to  obscure  his  admiration. 

"How's  that?"  she  panted  at  last,  sinking  into  a 
chair. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  Fieldstone  asked. 

"I  got  it  for  money — that's  where  I  got  it,"  Miss 
Haig  replied;  "and  I  got  to  get  money  for  it — if  not 
by  you,  by  some  other  concern." 

Fieldstone  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  apparent 
indifference. 

uYou  know  your  own  book,  kid,"  he  said;  "but, 
you  can  take  it  from  me,  you'll  be  making  the  mis 
take  of  your  life  if  you  quit  me." 

"Maybe  I  will  and  maybe  I  won't!"  Miss  Haig 


3io        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

said  as  she  gathered  up  her  handkerchief  and  pocket- 
book.  "I  ain't  going  to  do  nothing  in  a  hurry;  but  if 
you  want  to  give  me  my  two  weeks'  notice  now  go 
ahead  and  do  it!" 

"Think  it  over,  kid,"  Fieldstone  said  calmly  as 
Miss  Haig  started  for  the  door.  "Anything  can 
happen  in  this  business.  Raymond  might  drop  dead 
or  something." 

Miss  Haig  slammed  the  door  behind  her,  but  in  the 
moment  of  doing  it  Fieldstone  caught  the  unspoken 
wish  in  her  flashing  eyes. 

"So  do  I!"  he  said  half  aloud. 

Lyman  J.  Bienenflug,  of  the  firm  of  Bienenflug  & 
Krimp,  Rooms  6000  to  6020  Algonquin  Theatre 
Building,  was  a  theatrical  lawyer  in  the  broadest  sense 
of  the  term;  and  it  was  entirely  unnecessary  for  Mrs. 
Ray  Fieldstone  to  preface  every  new  sentence  with 
"Listen,  Mr.  Bienenflug!"  because  Mr.  Bienenflug 
was  listening  as  a  theatrical  lawyer  ought  to  listen, 
with  legs  crossed  and  biting  on  the  end  of  a  penholder, 
while  his  heavy  brows  were  knotted  in  a  frown  of 
deep  consideration,  borrowed  from  Sir  J.  Forbes 
Robertson  in  "Hamlet,"  Act  III,  Scene  i. 

"Listen,  Mr.  Bienenflug!  I  considered  why  should 
I  stand  for  it  any  longer?"  Mrs.  Fieldstone  went  on. 
"He  usen't  anyhow  to  come  home  till  two — three 
o'clock.  Now  he  don't  come  home  at  all  sometimes. 
Am  I  right  or  wrong?" 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU  BEEN"        311 

" Quite  right,"  Mr.  Bienenflug  said.  "You  have 
ample  grounds  for  a  limited  divorce." 

While  retaining  or,  rather,  as  a  dramatic  producer 
would  say,  registering  the  posture  of  listening,  Mr. 
Bienenflug  mentally  reviewed  all  J.  Montgomery 
Fieldstone's  successes  of  the  past  year,  which  in 
cluded  the  "Head  of  the  Family,"  a  drama,  and  Miss 
Goldie  Raymond  in  the  Viennese  knockout  of  two 
continents,  "Rudolph,  Where  Have  You  Been."  He 
therefore  estimated  the  alimony  at  two  hundred  dol 
lars  a  week  and  a  two-thousand-dollar  counsel  fee;  and 
he  was  proceeding  logically  though  subconsciously  to 
a  contrasting  of  the  respective  motor-car  refinement 
displayed  by  a  ninety-horse-power  J.  C.  B.  and  the 
new  1914  model  Samsoun — both  six  cylinders — when 
Mrs.  Fieldstone  spoke  again. 

"Listen,  Mr.  Bienenflug!"  she  protested.  "I 
don't  want  no  divorce.  I  should  get  a  divorce  at  my 
time  of  life,  with  four  children  already!  What  for?" 

"Not  an  absolute  divorce,"  Mr.  Bienenflug  ex 
plained;  "just  a  separation." 

"A  separation!"  Mrs.  Fieldstone  exclaimed  in  a 
manner  so  agitated  that  she  forgot  to  say,  "Listen, 
Mr.  Beinenflug!"  "If  I  would  want  a  separation  I 
don't  need  to  come  to  a  lawyer,  Mr.  Bienenflug. 
Any  married  woman  if  she  is  crazy  in  the  head  could 
go  home  to  her  folks  to  live,  Mr.  Bienenflug,  without 
paying  money  to  a  lawyer  he  should  advise  her  to  do 
so,  Mr.  Bienenflug;  which  I  got  six  married  sisters, 


3i2       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Mr.  Bienenflug — and  before  I  would  go  and  live  with 
any  of  them,  Mr.  Bienenflug,  my  husband  could 
make  me  every  day  fresh  a  blue  eye — and  still  I 
wouldn't  leave  him.  No,  Mr.  Bienenflug,  I  ain't 
asking  you  you  should  get  me  a  separation.  What  I 
want  is  you  should  get  him  to  come  home  and  stay 
home." 

"But  a  lawyer  can't  do  that,  Mrs.  Fieldstone." 

"I  thought  a  lawyer  could  do  anything,"  Mrs. 

Fieldstone  said,  "if  he  was  paid  for  it,  Mr.  Bienenflug, 

which  I  got  laying  in  savings  bank  over  six  hundred 

dollars;  and " 

Mr.  Bienenflug  desired  to  hear  no  more.  He  un 
crossed  his  legs  and  dropped  the  penholder  abruptly. 
At  the  same  time  he  struck  a  handbell  on  his  desk  to 
summon  an  office  boy,  who  up  to  the  opening  night  of 
the  "Head  of  the  Family,"  six  months  before,  had 
responded  to  an  ordinary  electric  pushbutton.  But 
anyone  who  has  ever  seen  the  "Head  of  the  Family" — 
and,  in  fact,  any  one  who  knows  anything  about 
dramatic  values — will  appreciate  how  much  more 
effective  from  a  theatrical  standpoint  the  handbell  is 
than  the  pushbutton.  There  is  something  about  the 
imperative  Bing!  of  the  handbell  that  holds  an 
audience.  It  is,  in  short,  drama — though  drama  has 
its  disadvantages  in  real  life;  for  Mr.  Bienenflug,  after 
striking  the  handbell  six  times  without  response,  was 
obliged  to  go  to  the  door  and  shout  "Ralph!"  in  a 
wholly  untheatrical  voice. 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU   BEEN"        313 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  said  when  the 
office  boy  appeared.  "Can't  you  hear  when  you're 
rung  for?" 

Ralph  murmured  that  he  thought  it  was  a — now — 
Polyclinic  ambulance  out  in  the  street. 

"Get  me  a  stenographer,"  Mr.  Bienenflug  said. 

In  the  use  of  the  indefinite  article  before  stenogra 
pher  he  was  once  again  the  theatrical  lawyer,  because 
Bienenflug  &  Krimp  kept  but  one  stenographer,  and 
at  that  particular  moment  she  was  in  earnest  con 
versation  with  a  young  lady  whose  face  bore  traces  of 
recent  tears. 

It  was  this  face  and  not  a  Polyclinic  ambulance  that 
had  delayed  Ralph  Zinsheimer's  response  to  his 
employer's  bell;  and  after  he  had  retired  from  Mr. 
Bienenflug's  room  he  straightway  forgot  his  message 
in  listening  to  a  very  moving  narrative  indeed. 

"And  after  I  left  his  office  who  should  I  run  into 
but  Sidney  Rossmore,"  said  the  young  lady  with  the 
tear-stained  face,  whom  you  will  now  discover  to  be 
Miss  Vivian  Haig;  "and  he  says  that  he  just  saw 
Raymond  and  she's  going  to  sign  up  with  Fieldstone 
for  the  new  piece  to-night  yet." 

She  began  to  weep  anew  and  Ralph  could  have 
wept  with  her,  or  done  anything  else  to  comfort  her, 
such  as  taking  her  in  his  arms  and  allowing  her  head 
to  rest  on  his  shoulder — and  but  for  the  presence  of 
the  stenographer  he  would  have  tried  it,  too. 

"Well,"  Miss  Schwartz,  the  stenographer,  said, 


314       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"he'll  get  his  come-uppihgs  all  right!  His  wife  is  in 
with  Mr.  Bienenflug  now,  and  I  guess  she's  going  in 
for  a  little  alimony." 

Miss  Haig  dried  her  eyes  and  sat  up  straight. 

"What  for?  "she  said. 

"You  should  ask  what  for!"  Miss  Schwartz  com 
mented.  "I  guess  you  know  what  theatrical  mana 
gers  are." 

"Not  Fieldstone  ain't!"  Miss  Haig  declared  with 
conviction.  "I'll  say  anything  else  about  him,  from 
petty  larcency  up;  but  otherwise  he's  a  perfect  gentle 


man." 


At  this  juncture  Mr.  Bienenflug's  door  burst  open. 

"Ralph!  "he  roared. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bienenflug,"  Miss  Haig  said,  "I  want  to 
see  you  for  a  minute." 

She  smiled  on  him  with  the  same  smile  she  had 
employed  nightly  in  the  second  act  of  "Rudolph"  and 
Mr.  Bienenflug  immediately  regained  his  composure. 

"Come  into  Mr.  Krimp's  room,"  he  said. 

And  he  closed  the  door  of  Room  6000,  which  was 
his  own  room,  and  ushered  Miss  Haig  through  Room 
6010,  which  was  the  outer  office,  occupied  by  the 
stenographer  and  the  office  boy,  into  Mr.  Krimp's 
room,  or  Room  6020;  for  it  was  by  the  simple  expe 
dient  of  numbering  rooms  in  tens  and  not  in  units  that 
the  owner  of  the  Algonquin  Theatre  Building  had 
provided  his  tenants  with  such  commodious  suites  of 
offices — on  their  letterheads  at  least. 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU   BEEN'         315 

"By  jinks!  I  clean  forgot  all  about  it,  Miss 
Schwartz,"  Ralph  said  after  Mr.  Bienenflug  had  be 
come  closeted  with  his  more  recent  client.  "He  told 
me  to  tell  you  to  come  in  and  take  some  dictation." 

"I'll  go  in  all  right,"  Miss  Schwartz  said;  and  she 
entered  Mr.  Bienenflug's  room  determined  to  pluck 
out  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Fieldstone's  mystery. 

It  needed  no  effort  on  the  stenographer's  part,  how 
ever;  for  as  soon  as  she  said  "How  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
Fieldstone?"  Mrs.  Fieldstone  forthwith  unbosomed 
herself. 

"Listen,  Miss  Schwartz,"  she  said.  "I've  been 
here  about  buying  houses,  and  I've  been  here  about 
putting  out  tenants — and  all  them  things;  but  I  never 
thought  I  would  come  here  about  Jake." 

Out  of  consideration  for  Ralph,  Miss  Schwartz  had 
left  the  door  ajar,  and  Ralph  discreetly  seated  himself 
on  one  side  where  he  might  hear  unobserved. 

"Why,  what's  the  trouble  now,  Mrs.  Fieldstone?" 
Miss  Schwartz  asked. 

"Former  times  he  usen't  to  come  home  till  two — 
three  o'clock,"  Mrs.  Fieldstone  repeated;  "and  last 
week  twice  already  he  didn't  come  home  at  all;  but  he 
telephoned — I  will  say  that  for  him."  Here  she  burst 
into  tears,  which  in  a  woman  of  Mrs.  Fieldstone's 
weight  and  style  of  beauty — for  she  was  by  no  means 
unhandsome — left  Ralph  entirely  unmoved.  "Last 
night,"  she  sobbed,  "he  ain't  even  telephoned!" 

"Well,"  Miss  Schwartz  said  soothingly,  "you've 


3i6       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

got  to  expect  that  in  the  show  business.  Believe  me, 
Mrs.  Fieldstone,  you  should  ought  to  jump  right  in 
with  a  motion  for  alimony  before  he  spends  it  all  on 
them  others." 

"That's  where  you  make  a  big  mistake,  Miss 
Schwartz,"  Mrs.  Fieldstone  said  indignantly.  "My 
Jake  ain't  got  no  eyes  for  no  other  woman  but  me! 
It  ain't  that,  I  know!  If  it  was  I  wouldn't  stick  at 
nothing.  I'd  divorce  him  like  a  dawg!  The  thing  is 
— now — I  consider  should  I  sue  him  in  the  courts  for  a 
separation  or  shouldn't  I  wait  to  see  if  he  wouldn't 
quit  staying  out  all  night.  Mr.  Bienenflug  wants  me 
I  should  do  it — but  I  don't  know." 

She  sighed  tremulously  and  opened  wide  the  flap 
of  her  handbag,  which  was  fitted  with  a  mirror  and  a 
powder  puff;  and  after  she  had  made  good  the  emo 
tional  ravages  to  her  complexion  she  rose  to  her  feet. 

"Listen,  Miss  Schwartz.  I  think  I'll  think  it  over 
and  come  back  to-morrow,"  she  said. 

"But,  Mrs.  Fieldstone,"  Miss  Schwartz  protested, 
"won't  you  wait  till  Mr.  Bienenflug  gets  through? 
He'll  he  out  in  a  minute." 

"He  didn't  have  no  business  to  leave  me  stay 
here,"  Mrs.  Fieldstone  replied.  "I  was  here  first; 
but,  anyhow,  I'll  be  back  to-morrow  or  so."  Here 
she  put  on  her  gloves.  "Furthermore,  I  ain't  in  no 
hurry,"  she  said.  "When  you've  been  married  to  a 
man  sixteen  years,  twenty-four  hours  more  or  less 
about  getting  a  divorce  don't  make  no  difference  one 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU  BEEN"        317 

way  or  the  other."  She  opened  the  door  leading  into 
the  hall.  "And,  anyhow,"  she  declared  finally,  "I 
ain't  going  to  get  no  divorce  anyway." 

Miss  Schwartz  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"My  tzuris  if  you  get  a  divorce  or  not!"  she  said  as 
she  heard  the  elevator  door  close  behind  Mrs.  Field- 
stone. 

"I  hope  she  does!"  Ralph  said  fervently.  "He's 
nothing  but  a  dawg — that  fellow  Fieldstone  ain't!" 

"Most  of  'em  are  dawgs — those  big  managers," 
Miss  Schwartz  said;  "and,  what  with  their  wives  and 
their  actors,  they  lead  a  dawg's  life,  too." 

Further  discussion  was  prevented  by  the  appear 
ance  of  Miss  Haig  and  Mr.  Bienenflug  from  Room 
6020. 

"I  can  throw  the  bluff  all  right,"  Mr.  Bienenflug 
was  saying;  "though  I  tell  you  right  now,  Miss  Haig, 
you  haven't  any  cause  of  action;  and  if  you  did  have 
one  there  wouldn't  be  much  use  in  suing  on  it." 

He  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"A  producing  manager  has  to  get  a  couple  of 
judgments  entered  against  him  every  week,  other 
wise  every  one'd  think  he  was  an  easy  mark,"  he 
commented;  "and  that's  why  I  say  there  ain't  any 
money  in  the  show  business  for  the  plaintiff's  attorney 
— unless  it's  an  action  for  divorce."  Here  he  snapped 
his  fingers  as  he  realized  that  he  had  completely  for 
gotten  Mrs.  Fieldstone  during  his  twenty-minute 
consultation  with  Miss  Haig.  "Well,  good-bye,  Miss 


3i8        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

Haig,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand  warmly.  "  I've  got 
some  one  in  there  waiting  to  see  me." 

"No,  you  ain't,"  Ralph  blurted  out.  "Mrs.  Field- 
stone  went  away  a  fewminutes  ago;  and  she  said " 

"  Went  away ! "  Mr.  Bienenflug  exclaimed.  "Went 
away !  And  you  let  her  ? " 

"He  ain't  no  cop,  Mr.  Bienenflug,"  Miss  Schwartz 
said,  coming  to  Ralph's  defence.  "What  did  you 
want  him  to  do — put  handcuffs  on  her?" 

"So,"  Bienenflug  said  bitterly,  "you  let  Mrs. 
Fieldstone  go  out  of  this  office  with  a  counsel  fee  of 
two  thousand  dollars  and  a  rake-off  on  two  hundred 
a  week  alimony!" 

"Alimony!"  Miss  Haig  cried,  with  an  excellent 
assumption  of  surprise.  "Is  Mrs.  Fieldstone  suing 
Mont  for  divorce?" 

She  was  attempting  a  diversion  in  Ralph's  favour, 
but  it  was  no  use. 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Haig,"  Bienenflug  said  raspingly, 
for  in  the  light  of  his  vanished  counsel  fee  and  alimony 
he  knew  now  that  Miss  Haig  was  a  siren,  a  vampire, 
and  altogether  a  dangerous  female.  "I  don't  discuss 
one  client's  affairs  with  another!" 

"Oh,  all  right ! "  Miss  Haig  said,  and  she  walked  out 
into  the  hallway  and  slammed  the  door  behind  her. 

"Now  you  get  out  of  here!"  Bienenflug  shouted, 
and  Ralph  barely  had  time  to  grab  his  hat  when  he 
found  himself  in  front  of  the  elevators  with  Miss 
Haig. 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU  BEEN"        319 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  said.  "Did  Mr.  Bien- 
enflug  fire  you?" 

Ralph  could  not  trust  himself  to  words;  he  was 
too  busy  trying  to  prevent  his  lower  lip  from 
wagging. 

"Well,"  Miss  Haig  went  on,  "I  guess  you  wouldn't 
have  no  trouble  finding  another  job.  What  did  he  do 
it  for?" 

"I  couldn't  help  her  skipping  out,"  Ralph  said 
huskily;  "and  besides,  she  ain't  going  to  sue  for  no 
divorce,  anyway.  She  said  so  before  she  went." 

Miss  Haig  nodded  and  her  rosebud  mouth 
straightened  into  as  thin  a  line  as  one  could  expect  of 
a  rouge-d-levre  rosebud. 

"  She  did,  eh  ? "  she  rejoined.  "  Well,  if  she  was  to 
change  her  mind  do  you  suppose  Bienenflug  would 
give  you  back  your  job  ? " 

"Maybe!  "Ralph  said. 

"Then  here's  your  chance!"  Miss  Haig  said. 
"You're  a  smart  kid,  Ralph;  so  all  you've  got  to  do  is 
to  get  Mrs.  Fieldstone  round  to  Sam's  at  half-past 
eleven  to-night — and  if  she  don't  change  her  mind  I 
miss  my  guess." 

"  Why  will  she  ? "  Ralph  asked. 

"Because,"  Miss  Haig  replied,  as  she  made  ready  to 
descend  in  the  elevator,  "just  about  that  time  Field- 
stone  '11  be  pretty  near  kissing  her  to  make  her  take 
fifty  dollars  a  week  less  than  she'll  ask." 

"  Kissing  who  ?"  Ralph  demanded. 


320       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Be  there  at  half-past  eleven,"  Miss  Haig  said, 
"and  you'll  see!" 

Though  Ralph  Zinsheimer  had  performed  the  func 
tions  of  an  office  boy  in  Rooms  6000  to  6020  he  was, 
in  fact,  "over  and  above  the  age  of  eighteen  years," 
as  prescribed  by  that  section  of  the  Code  of  Civil 
Procedure  dealing  with  the  service  of  process.  Indeed 
he  was  so  manly  for  his  age  that  Mr.  Bienenflug  in 
moments  of  enthusiasm  had  occasionally  referred  to 
him  as  "our  managing  clerk,  Mr.  Zinsheimer,"  and 
it  was  in  this  assumed  capacity  that  he  had  sought 
Mrs.  Fieldstone  and  had  at  length  persuaded  her  to 
go  down  to  Sam's  with  him. 

"A  young  man  of  your  age  ought  to  be  home  and  in 
bed  long  before  this,"  she  said  as  they  turned  the 
corner  of  Sixth  Avenue  precisely  at  half-past  eleven. 

"I  got  my  duties  to  perform  the  same  as  anybody 
else,  Mrs.  Fieldstone;  and  what  Mr.  Bienenflug  tells 
me  to  do  I  must  do,"  he  retorted.  "Also,  you  should 
remember  what  I  told  you  about  not  eating  nothing 
on  me  except  oysters  and  a  glass  of  beer,  maybe,  as  I 
forgot  to  bring  much  money  with  me  from  the  office." 

"I  didn't  come  down  here  to  eat,"  Mrs.  Fieldstone 
said,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

"Even  so,  Mrs.  Fieldstone,  don't  you  try  to  start 
nothing  with  this  woman,  as  you  never  know  what 
you're  stacking  up  against  in  cafes,"  Ralph  warned 
her.  "Young  Hartigan,  the  featherweight  cham- 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU   BEEN"        321 

pion  of  the  world,  used  to  be  a — now — coat  boy 
in  Sam's;  and  they  got  several  waiters  working 
there  who  has  also  graduated  from  the  preliminary 
class." 

"I  wouldn't  open  my  head  at  all,"  Mrs.  Fieldstone 
promised;  and  with  this  assurance  they  entered  the 
most  southerly  of  the  three  doors  to  Sam's. 

One  of  the  penalties  of  being  one  of  the  few  restau 
rants  in  New  York  permitted  to  do  business  between 
one  A.  M.  and  six  A.  M.  was  that  Sam's  Cafe  and 
Restaurant  did  a  light  business  between  six  p.  M.  and 
one  A.  M.;  and  consequently  at  eleven-thirty  p.  M.  J. 
Montgomery  Fieldstone  and  Miss  Goldie  Raymond 
were  the  only  occupants  of  the  south  dining- 
room. 

It  is  true  that  there  were  other  customers  seated  in 
the  middle  and  north  dining-rooms — conspicuously 
Mr.  Sidney  Rossmore  and  Miss  Vivian  Haig;  and  it 
was  this  young  lady  who,  though  hidden  from  J. 
Montgomery  Fieldstone's  view,  formed  one  of  the 
subsidiary  heads  of  his  discourse  with  Miss  Raymond. 

"Well,  I  wish  you  could  'a'  seen  her,  kid!"  he  said 
to  Miss  Raymond.  "My  little  girl  seven  years  old 
has  took  of  Professor  Rheinberger  plain  and  fancy 
dancing  for  three  weeks  only,  and  she's  a  regular 
Pavlowa  already  alongside  of  Haig.  She's  heavy  on 
her  feet  like  an  elephant!" 

"You  should  tell  me  that!"  Miss  Raymond  ex 
claimed.  "Ain't  I  seen  her ? " 


322       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"And  yet  you  claim  I  considered  giving  her  this 
part  in  the  new  piece/'  Fieldstone  said  indignantly. 
"I'm  honestly  surprised  at  you,  kid!" 

"Oh,  you'd  do  anything  to  save  fifty  dollars  a  week 
on  your  salary  list,"  she  retorted. 

"About  that  fifty  dollars,  listen  to  me,  Goldie!" 
Fieldstone  began,  just  as  Ralph  and  Mrs.  Fieldstone 
came  through  the  revolving  doors.  "I  don't  want 
you  to  think  I'm  small,  see  ?  And  if  you  say  you  must 
have  it,  why,  I'll  give  it  to  you."  He  leaned  forward 
and  smiled  affably  at  her.  "After  the  thirtieth 
week!"  he  concluded  in  seductive  tones. 

"Right  from  the  day  we  open!"  Miss  Raymond 
said,  tapping  the  tablecloth  with  her  fingertips. 

"Now,  sweetheart,"  Fieldstone  began,  as  he  seized 
her  hand  and  squeezed  it  affectionately,  "you  know 
as  well  as  I  do  when  I  say  a  thing  I  mean  it,  be 
cause -" 

And  it  was  here  that  Mrs.  Fieldstone,  losing  all 
control  of  herself  and  all  remembrance  of  Ralph's 
admonition,  took  the  aisle  in  as  few  leaps  as  her 
fashionable  skirt  permitted  and  brought  up  heavily 
against  her  husband's  table. 

"Jake!"  she  cried  hysterically.  "Jake,  what  is 
this?" 

Fieldstone  dropped  Miss  Raymond's  hand  and 
jumped  out  of  his  chair. 

"Why,  mommer!"  he  exclaimed.  "What's  the 
matter  ?  Is  the  children  sick  ? " 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU  BEEN"        323 

He  caught  her  by  the  arm,  but  she  shook  him  off 
and  turned  threateningly  to  Miss  Raymond. 

"You  hussy,  you ! "  she  said.  " What  do  you  mean 
by  it?" 

Miss  Goldie  Raymond  stood  up  and  glared  at  Mrs- 
Fieldstone. 

"Hussy  yourself  !"  she  said.  "Who  are  you  call 
ing  a  hussy?  Mont,  are  you  going  to  stand  there  and 
hear  me  called  a  hussy?" 

Fieldstone  paid  no  attention  to  this  demand.  He 
was  clawing  affectionately  at  his  wife's  arm  and  re 
peating,  "Listen,  mommer!  Listen!"  in  anguished 
protest. 

"I  would  call  you  what  I  please!"  Mrs.  Fieldstone 
panted.  "I  would  call  you  worser  yet;  and " 

Miss  Raymond,  however,  decided  to  wait  no  longer 
for  a  champion;  and,  as  the  sporting  writers  would 
say,  she  headed  a  left  swing  for  Mrs.  Fieldstone's 
chin.  But  it  never  landed,  because  two  vigorous 
arms,  newly  whitened  with  an  emulsion  of  zinc  oxide, 
were  thrown  round  her  waist  and  she  was  dragged 
back  into  her  chair. 

"Don't  you  dare  touch  that  lady,  Goldie  Ray 
mond!"  said  a  voice  that  can  only  be  described  as 
clear  and  vibrant,  despite  the  speaker's  recent  ex 
hausting  solo  in  the  second  act  of  "Rudolph  Where 
Have  You  Been."  "  Don't  you  dare  touch  that  lady, 
or  I'll  lift  the  face  off  you!" 

Miss  Raymond  was  no  sooner  seated,  however, 


324       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

than  she  sprang  up  again  and  with  one  begemmed 
hand  secured  a  firm  hold  on  the  bird  of  paradise  in 
Miss  Vivian  Haig's  hat. 

"No  one  can  make  a  mum  out  of  me!"  she  pro 
claimed,  and  at  once  closed  with  her  adversary. 

Simultaneously  Mrs.  Fieldstone  shrieked  aloud  and 
sank  swooning  into  the  arms  of  her  husband.  As  for 
Sidney  Rossmore  and  Ralph  Zinsheimer,  they  lingered 
to  see  no  more;  but  at  the  first  outcry  they  fled 
through  a  doorway  at  the  end  of  the  room.  In  the 
upper  part  it  was  fitted  with  a  ground-glass  panel 
that,  as  if  in  derision,  bore  the  legend:  Cafe  for  Men 
Only. 

When  they  emerged  a  few  minutes  later  Miss 
Goldie  Raymond  had  been  spirited  away  by  the 
management  with  the  mysterious  rapidity  of  a  suicide 
at  Monte  Carlo,  and  Miss  Vivian  Haig,  hatless  and 
dishevelled,  was  laving  Mrs.  Fieldstone's  forehead 
with  brandy,  supplied  by  the  management  at  forty 
cents  a  pony. 

"You  know  me,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Fieldstone?"  Miss 
Vivian  Haig  said.  "Fm  Hattie  Katzberger." 

Mrs.  Fieldstone  had  now  been  laved  with  upward 
of  two  dollars  and  forty  cents'  worth  of  brandy,  and 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  nodded  weakly. 

"And  you  know  that  other  woman,  too,  mommer," 
Fieldstone  protested.  "That  was  Goldie  Raymond 
that  plays  Mitzi  in  'Rudolph.'  I  was  only  trying  to 
get  her  to  sign  up  for  the  new  show,  mommer.  What 


"WHERE  HAVE  YOU   BEEN"        325 

do  you  think  ? — I  would  do  anything  otherwise  at  my 
time  of  life!  Foolish  woman,  you!" 

He  pinched  Mrs.  Fieldstone's  pale  cheek  and  she 
smiled  at  him  in  complete  understanding. 

"But  you  ain't  going  to  give  her  the  new  part 
now,  are  you,  Jake?"  she  murmured. 

"  Certainly  he  ain't ! "  Miss  Vivian  Haig  said.  "  I'm 
going  to  get  that  part  myself,  ain't  I,Mr.Fieldstone?" 

Fieldstone  made  a  gesture  of  complete  surrender. 

"Sure  you  are!"  he  said,  with  the  earnestness  of  a 
waist  manufacturer  and  not  a  producing  manager. 
"And  a  good  dancer  like  you,"  he  concluded,  "I 
would  pay  the  same  figure  as  Goldie  Raymond." 

The  following  morning  Lyman  J.  Bienenflug  dis 
patched  to  Mrs.  J.  Montgomery  Fieldstone  a  bill  for 
professional  services,  consultation  and  advice  in  and 
about  settlement  of  action  for  a  separation — Field- 
stone  versus  Fieldstone — six  hundred  dollars.  He 
also  dispatched  to  Miss  Vivian  Haig  another  bill  for 
professional  services,  consultation  and  advice  in  and 
about  settlement  of  action  for  breach  of  contract  of 
employment — Haig  versus  Fieldstone — two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars. 

Later  in  the  day  Ralph  Zinsheimer,  managing 
clerk  in  the  office  of  Bienenflug  &  Krimp,  and  over 
and  above  the  age  of  eighteen  years  as  prescribed  by 
the  Code,  served  a  copy  of  the  summons  and  com 
plaint  on  each  of  the  joint  tort-feasors  in  the  ten- 


326        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

thousand-dollar  assault  action  of  Goldie  Raymond, 
plaintiff,  against  J.  Montgomery  Fieldstone  and 
others,  defendants.  There  were  important  changes 
that  evening  in  the  cast  of  "Rudolph  Where  Have 
You  Been." 


CHAPTER  TEN 
CAVEAT  EMPTOR 

FOR  many  years  Mr.  Herman  Wolfson  had  so 
conducted  the  auctioneering  business  that  he 
could  look  the  whole  world,  including  the 
district  attorney,  in  the  eye  and  tell  'em  to  go  jump  on 
themselves.  This  was  by  no  means  an  easy  thing  to 
do,  when  the  wavering  line  of  demarcation  between 
right  and  wrong  often  depends  on  the  construction  of 
a  comma  in  the  Code  of  Criminal  Procedure.  Never 
theless,  under  the  competent  advice  of  Henry  D. 
Feldman,  that  eminent  legal  practitioner,  Mr.  Wolf- 
son  had  prospered;  and  although  his  specialty  was  the 
purchasing  en  bloc  of  the  stock  in  trade  and  fixtures  of 
failing  shopkeepers,  not  once  had  he  been  obliged  to 
turn  over  his  purchases  to  the  host  of  clamouring 
creditors. 

"My  skirts  I  keep  it  clean,"  he  explained  to  Philip 
Borrochson,  whose  retail  jewellery  business  had 
proved  a  losing  venture  and  was,  therefore,  being  ac 
quired  by  Mr.  Wolfson  at  five  hundred  dollars  less 
than  its  actual  value,  "and  if  I  got  an  idee  you  was 
out  to  do  somebody — myself  or  anybody  else — I 

327 


328        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 
wouldn't  have  nothing  to  do  with  you,  Mr.  Borroch- 


son." 


The  conversation  took  place  in  the  business  prem 
ises  of  Mr.  Borrochson,  a  small,  poorly-stocked  store 
on  Third  Avenue,  one  Sunday  morning  in  January, 
which  is  always  a  precarious  month  in  the  jewellery 
trade. 

"If  it  should  be  the  last  word  what  I  ever  told  it 
you,  Mr.  Wolfson,"  Borrochson  declared,  "I  ain't  got 
even  a  piece  of  wrapping-paper  on  memorandum. 
Everything  in  my  stock  is  a  straight  purchase  at 
sixty  and  ninety  days.  You  can  take  my  word  for 


it." 


Mr.  Wolfson  nodded. 

"When  I  close  the  deal  to  buy  the  place,  Borroch 
son,"  he  said,  "I'll  take  more  as  your  word  for  it. 
You  got  a  writing  from  me  just  now,  and  I'll  get  a 
writing  from  you.  I'll  take  your  affidavit,  the  same 
what  Henry  D.  Feldman  draws  it  in  every  case  when 
I  buy  stores.  There  ain't  never  no  mistakes  in  them 
affidavits,  neither,  Borrochson,  otherwise  the  party 
what  makes  it  is  got  ten  years  to  wait  before  he 
makes  another  one." 

"Sure,  I  know  it,  you  can  make  me  arrested  if  I 
faked  you,  Mr.  Wolfson,"  Borrochson  replied,  "but 
this  is  straight  goods." 

"And  how  about  them  showcases  ? "  Wolfson  asked. 

"Only  notes  I  give  it  for  'em,"  Borrochson  an 
swered  him.  "I  ain't  give  a  chattel  mortgage  or  one 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  329 

of  them  conditional  bill-off-sales  on  so  much  as  a  tin 
tack." 

"Well,  Feldman  will  look  out  for  that,  Borroch 
son,"  Wolfson  replied,  "and  the  safe,  too." 

Borrochson  started. 

"I  thought  I  told  it  you  about  the  safe,"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"You  ain't  told  me  nothing  about  the  safe,"  Wolf- 
son  answered.  "The  writing  what  I  give  you  says 
the  stock  and  fixtures." 

Borrochson  took  out  the  paper  which  Wolfson  had 
just  signed,  and  examined  it  carefully. 

"You're  wrong,"  Borrochson  said.  "I  stuck  it  in 
the  words  'without  the  safe'  before  you  signed  it." 

Wolfson  rose  heavily  to  his  feet. 

"Let  see  it  the  writing,"  he  said,  making  a  grab  for 
it. 

"It's  all  right,"  Borrochson  replied.  "Here  it  is, 
black  on  white,  'without  the  safe/ ' 

"Then  you  done  me  out  of  it,"  Wolfson  cried. 

"I  didn't  done  you  out  of  nothing,"  Borrochson 
retorted.  "You  should  of  read  it  over  before  you 
signed  it,  and,  anyhow,  what  difference  does  the  safe 
make?  It  ain't  worth  fifty  dollars  if  it  was  brand- 


new." 


"Without  a  safe  a  jewellery  stock  is  nothing," 
Wolfson  said.  "So  if  you  told  it  me  you  wouldn't 
sell  the  safe  I  wouldn't  of  signed  the  paper.  You 
cheated  me." 


330       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

He  walked  toward  the  door  of  the  store  and  had 
about  reached  it  when  it  burst  open  to  admit  a  tall, 
slight  man  with  haggard  face  and  blazing  eyes.  He 
rushed  past  Wolfson,  who  turned  and  stared  after 
him. 

"Mr.  Borrochson,"  the  newcomer  cried,  "what's 
the  use  your  fooling  me  any  longer?  Five  hundred 
dollars  I  will  give  for  the  safe,  and  that's  my  last 
word." 

"Sssh!"  Borrochson  hissed,  and  drew  his  visitoi 
toward  the  end  of  the  store.  There  a  whispered 
conversation  took  place  with  frequent  outbursts  of 
sacred  and  profane  exclamations  from  the  tall,  slender 
person,  who  finally  smacked  Borrochson's  face  with  a 
resounding  slap  and  ran  out  of  the  store. 

"Bloodsucker!"  he  yelled  as  he  slammed  the  door 
behind  him.  "You  want  my  life." 

Wolfson  stared  first  at  the  departing  stranger  and 
then  at  Borrochson,  who  was  thoughtfully  rubbing 
his  red  and  smarting  cheek. 

"It  goes  too  far!"  Borrochson  cried.  "Twicet 
already  he  does  that  to  me  and  makes  also  my  nose 
bleed.  The  next  time  I  make  him  arrested." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  Wolfson  asked. 
"Is  he  crazy?" 

"He  makes  me  crazy,"  Borrochson  replied.  "I 
wish  I  never  seen  the  safe." 

"The  safe!"  Wolfson  exclaimed.  "What's  he  got 
to  do  with  the  safe  ? " 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  331 

"Oh,  nothing,"  Borrochson  answered  guardedly; 
"just  a  little  business  between  him  and  me  about  it." 

"But,  Mr.  Borrochson,"  Wolfson  coaxed,  "there 
can't  be  no  harm  in  telling  me  about  it." 

He  handed  a  cigar  to  Borrochson,  who  examined  it 
suspiciously  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"Seed  tobacco  always  makes  me  a  stomachache," 
he  said,  "unless  I  smoke  it  after  a  meal." 

"That  ain't  no  seed  tobacco,"  Wolfson  protested; 
"that's  a  clear  Havana  cigar.  But  anyhow,  what's 
the  matter  with  this  here  Who's-this  and  the  safe?" 

"Well,"  Borrochson  commenced,  "the  feller's  name 
is  Rubin,  and  he  makes  it  a  failure  in  the  jewellery 
business  on  Rivington  Street  last  June  already.  I 
went  and  bought  the  safe  at  the  receiver's  sale,  and 
ever  since  I  got  it  yet  he  bothered  the  life  out  of  me  I 
should  sell  him  back  the  safe." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  do  it?" 

"Because  we  can't  come  to  terms,"  Borrochson 
replied.  "He  wants  to  give  me  five  hundred  for  the 
safe,  and  I  couldn't  take  it  a  cent  less  than  seven- 
fifty." 

"But  what  did  you  give  for  the  safe  when  you 
bought  it  originally  already?"  Wolfson  asked. 

"Forty-five  dollars." 

Wolfson  whistled. 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  he  said  finally. 

"To  tell  you  the  candid  and  honest  truth,"  Bor 
rochson  replied,  "I  don't  see  nothing  the  matter  with 


332        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

the  safe.  Fifty  dollars  I  paid  it  to  experts  who  looked 
at  that  safe  with  telescopes  already,  like  they  was 
doctors,  and  they  couldn't  find  nothing  the  matter 
with  it,  neither.  The  safe  is  a  safe,  they  say,  and 
that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Wolfson  nodded  gravely. 

"  But  there  must  be  something  the  matter  with  the 
safe.  Ain't  it?" 

"Sure,  there  must  be,"  Borrochson  agreed,  "and  if 
Rubin  don't  want  to  buy  it  back,  either  I  will  blow  it 
up  the  safe  or  melt  it  down." 

"That  would  be  a  foolish  thing  to  do,"  Wolfson  said. 

"Well,  if  the  safe  is  worth  five  hundred  to  Rubin," 
Borrochson  declared,  "it's  worth  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  to  me.  That's  the  way  I  figure  it." 

Wolfson  blew  great  clouds  from  one  of  his  seed- 
tobacco  cigars  and  pondered  for  a  minute. 

"I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Borrochson,"  he  said  at 
last.  "Give  me  a  day  to  examine  the  safe  and  I'll 
make  you  an  offer  right  now  of  five  hundred  and 
fifty  for  it." 

Borrochson  laughed  raucously. 

"What  do  you  think  I  am?"  he  said.  "A  green 
horn?" 

Then  commenced  a  hard,  long  battle  in  which  a 
truce  was  declared  at  six  hundred  dollars. 

"But  mind  you,"  Wolfson  said,  "I  should  be  alone 
when  I  examine  the  safe." 

"Alone  without  a  safe  feller  you  couldn't  do  noth- 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  333 

ing,"  Borrochson  declared,  "but  if  you  mean  that  I 
shouldn't  be  there  to  see  the  whole  thing,  I  tell  you 
now  the  deal  is  off." 

"Don't  you  trust  me?"  Wolfson  asked,  in  accents 
of  hurt  astonishment. 

"Sure  I  trust  you,"  Borrochson  said;  "but  if  you 
should  find  it  a  big  diamond,  we  will  say,  for  instance, 
in  that  safe,  where  would  I  come  in  ? " 

"  You  think  I  would  steal  the  diamond  and  tell  you 
nothing,  and  then  refuse  to  take  the  safe  ? "  Wolfson 
asked. 

"I  don't  think  nothing,"  Borrochson  replied  stub 
bornly,  and  lapsed  into  silence. 

Here  was  a  deadlock  that  bade  fair  to  break  up  the 
deal. 

"Take  a  chance  on  me,  Borrochson,"  Wolfson  said 
at  last. 

"Why  should  I  take  a  chance  on  you,  Wolfson," 
Borrochson  replied,  "when  we  can  both  take  a 
chance  on  the  safe?  If  you  don't  want  to  take  it,  I 
will  take  it.  You  don't  got  to  buy  the  safe,  Wolfson, 
if  you  don't  want  to." 

For  five  minutes  more  Wolfson  pondered  and  at 
length  he  surrendered. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "I'll  make  you  this  proposi 
tion:  If  I  find  it  anything  in  the  safe  I  will  pay  you  six 
hundred,  and  if  I  don't  find  it  nothing  in  the  safe,  I 
will  pay  you  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  privilege  of 
looking.  I'm  willing  to  take  a  chance,  too." 


334       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"That  ain't  no  chance  what  you  take  it,"  Bor- 
rochson  cried.  "That's  a  dead-sure  certainty." 

"Why  is  it  a  certainty,  Borrochson?"  Wolfson 
retorted.  "If  I  don't  find  nothing  in  the  safe  you 
can  keep  it,  and  then  you  got  it  one  hundred  dollars 
from  me;  and  when  Rubin  comes  into  the  store  you 
could  sell  him  the  safe  for  five  hundred  dollars, 
anyway.  So  which  whatever  way  you  look  at  it, 
Borrochson,  you  get  six  hundred  dollars  for  the 
safe." 

Borrochson  frowned  in  deep  consideration  of  the 
plan. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Wolfson,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  and  this  is  my  last  word,  so  sure  as  you  stand  there. 
If  you  don't  want  to  consider  it,  the  deal  is  off.  Pay 
me  two  hundred  dollars  now  in  advance  and  four 
hundred  dollars  additional  when  you  find  it  something 
in  the  safe.  That  is  all  there  is  to  it." 

Wolfson  looked  hard  at  Borrochson,  but  there  was 
a  glitter  of  finality  in  the  jeweller's  eyes  that  clinched 
things. 

"And  you  and  the  safe  feller  can  look  at  the  safe 
alone,"  Borrochson  concluded. 

"I'm  satisfied,"  Wolfson  said  finally,  and  drew  a 
checkbook  from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

Borrochson  raised  his  hand  solemnly. 

"Either  cash  oder  nothing,"  was  his  ultimatum, 
and  Wolfson  replaced  the  checkbook  in  his  vest 
pocket  and  drew  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  trousers.  He 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  335 

peeled  off  two  hundred  dollars  and  handed  it  to  Bor- 
rochson. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "I  trust  you.     Ain't  it?" 

"You  got  to  trust  me,"  Borrochson  replied,  as 
Wolfson  rose  to  examine  the  safe. 

"Who  did  you  get  to  look  at  the  safe?"  he  asked 
Borrochson. 

"Experts  from  everywhere,"  Borrochson  replied. 
"I  must  of  got  ten  fellers  here  from  every  big  safe 
house  in  town.  I  can  show  you  the  bills  already." 

Wolfson  waved  his  hand. 

"I  don't  want  to  see  'em,"  he  said.  "But  on  the 
front  of  the  safe  I  see  it,  J.  Daiches,  maker,  Grand 
Street,  New  York.  Did  you  have  him  to  look  at  it  ? " 

"  Daiches ! "  Borrochson  repeated  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
should  say  I  didn't  get  him  to  look  at  it.  Why,  that 
feller  Daiches  don't  know  no  more  about  safes  than  I 
do  about  aljibbery  what  they  learn  it  young  fellers  by 
night  school.  He  come  from  Minsk  ten  years  ago 
and  made  it  a  little  money  as  an  operator  on  shirts. 
So  he  buys  out  a  feller  in  Grand  Street  and  goes  into 
the  safe  business  since  only  a  year  ago." 

"I  take  a  chance  on  him,  anyhow,"  Wolfson  de 
clared.  "So  do  me  the  favour  and  go  to  the  saloon 
on  the  corner  and  ring  him  up." 

Borrochson  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You're  up  against  a  bum  proposition  in  Daiches, 
Wolfson,"  he  said,  "because  that  feller  don't  know 
nothing  about  safes." 


336       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"But  he's  in  the  safe  business,  ain't  he?  And  a 
feller  can  learn  a  whole  lot  about  a  business  inside  a 
year." 

"A  horse  could  pull  it  a  truckload  of  books  for  a 
hundred  years,  Wolfson,"  Borrochson  said,  "and 
when  he  got  through  he  wouldn't  know  no  more 
what's  inside  of  them  books  than  when  he  started; 
ain't  it?" 

"  'S  enough,  Borrochson,"  Wolfson  said,  "if  you're 
afraid  to  trust  me  alone  in  the  store  here  while  you  go 
and  telephone,  why  we  can  lock  up  the  store  and  I 
will  go  with  you." 

Accordingly  they  repaired  to  the  sabbatical 
entrance  of  the  nearest  liquor  saloon  and  rang  up 
Daiches'  store  in  Grand  Street.  They  had  no  diffi 
culty  in  speaking  to  him,  for  on  the  lower  end  of 
Grand  Street  business  goes  forward  on  Sunday  as 
briskly  as  on  weekdays. 

"Mr.  Daiches,"  Borrochson  said,  "this  is  Philip 
Borrochson  from  Third  Avenue.  Could  you  come  up 
by  my  store  and  look  over  my  safe  ? " 

"I  ain't  in  the  market  for  no  safes,  Borrochson," 
Daiches  replied  at  the  other  end  of  the  telephone 
wire. 

"Not  to  buy  no  safes,"  Borrochson  corrected. 
"There's  a  feller  here  what  wants  you  to  look  at  my 
safe." 

"Tell  him  for  five  dollars,"  Wolfson  whispered  in 
Borrochson's  ear. 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  337 

"He  wants  to  give  you  five  dollars  for  the  job/' 
Borrochson  repeated. 

"For  five  dollars  is  different,"  Daiches  answered. 
"  I  will  be  up  in  half  an  hour.  Should  I  bring  ittools  ? " 

Borrochson  turned  to  Wolfson. 

"He  wants  to  know  should  he  bring  it  tools/'  he 
said. 

"Sure  he  should  bring  it  tools/'  Wolfson  cried; 
"powder  also." 

"Powder!"  Borrochson  exclaimed.     "What  for?" 

"Powder  what  you  blow  it  up  with,"  Wolfson 
answered. 

"Positively  not,"  Borrochson  declared.  "I 
wouldn't  tell  him  nothing  about  powder.  Might  you 
wouldn't  find  nothing  in  the  safe,  and  when  you  blew 
it  up  already  I  couldn't  sell  it  to  Rubin  for  a  button." 

He  turned  to  the  'phone  again. 

"Hullo,  Daiches!"  he  said.  "Bring  up  tools,  sure; 
but  remember  what  I  tell  you,  you  shouldn't  do 
nothing  to  harm  the  looks  of  the  safe." 

"Sure  not,"  Daiches  replied.     "Good-bye." 

An  hour  later  J.  Daiches  knocked  at  the  door  of  the 
store  and  was  admitted  by  Borrochson. 

"Mr.  Wolfson,"  he  said,  "this  is  J.  Daiches." 

"Pleased  to  meetcher,"  Daiches  replied.  "Which 
is  the  job  what  I  got  to  do  it  ? " 

They  led  him  to  the  safe  in  the  rear  of  the 
store. 


338        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

"Why,  that's  a  safe  what  myself  I  sold  it,"  Daiches 
exclaimed.  "  What's  the  matter  with  it  ? " 

"Nothing's  the  matter  with  it,"  Wolfson  said. 
"Only  Borrochson  should  go  outside  on  the  sidewalk 
and  stick  there  until  we  get  through." 

"Tell  me,  Wolfson,"  Borrochson  said  pleadingly, 
"why  should  I  go  outside?" 

"An  agreement  is  an  agreement,"  Wolfson  replied 
firmly,  and  Borrochson  left  the  store  and  slammed  the 
door  behind  him. 

"I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Wolfson,"  Daiches 
said;  "my  name  is  on  the  safe  as  maker,  but  I  didn't 
got  nothing  to  do  with  making  the  safe.  I  bought 
the  safe  from  a  Broadway  concern  what  put  my 
name  on  the  safe.  So  if  the  combination  gets  stuck 
it's  up  to  them." 

"There  ain't  nothing  the  matter  with  the  com 
bination,  Daiches,"  Wolfson  said,  "only  I  got  it  an 
idee  that  safe  must  have  a  secret  apartment." 

"A  secret  apartment!"  Daiches  exclaimed.  "Well, 
if  that's  the  case  somebody  put  it  on  after  I  sold 
it." 

Wolfson  looked  at  Daiches,  whose  uninteresting 
face  expressed  all  the  intelligence  of  a  tailor's  lay 
figure. 

"Supposin'  they  did,"  Wolfson  said,  "it's  your 
business  to  find  it  out." 

"I  thought  you  said  it  was  a  secret  apartment." 

Wolfson  made  no  reply;  he  felt  that  he  was  leaning 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  339 

on  a  broken  reed,  but  he  commenced  to  pull  out  the 
safe's  numerous  drawers,  all  of  which  contained  cheap 
jewellery. 

"Let  me  help  you  do  that,  Mr.  Wolfson,"  Daiches 
said,  and  suited  the  action  to  the  word  by  seizing  the 
top  drawer  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  safe.  He 
jerked  it  clumsily  from  its  frame  without  supporting 
the  rear,  and  the  next  moment  it  fell  heavily  to  the 
floor. 

"Idiot!"  Wolfson  hissed,  but  simultaneously 
Daiches  emitted  a  cry. 

He  pointed  excitedly  to  the  floor  where  the  drawer 
lay  upside  down.  A  small  velvet-lined  tray  extended 
from  the  rear  of  the  drawer,  while  scattered  on  the 
floor  beneath  lay  six  unset  diamonds  that  winked  and 
sparkled  in  the  half-light  of  the  shuttered  store. 

Wolfson  made  a  dart  for  the  stones  and  had 
managed  to  tuck  away  three  of  them  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket  when  Borrochson  burst  into  the  store  and  ran 
up  to  the  safe. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  gasped. 

Wolfson  wiped  his  forehead  before  replying. 

"Nothing's  the  matter,"  he  croaked.  "What  for 
you  come  into  the  store?  Ain't  you  agreed  you 
shouldn't?" 

"Where  did  them  diamonds  come  from?"  Borroch 
son  demanded,  pointing  to  the  three  gems  on  the 
dusty  floor. 

"  I  dropped  a  drawer,  the  top  one  on  the  left-hand 


340       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

side,"  Daiches  said,  lifting  up  the  drawer  and  pointing 
to  the  secret  slide  in  its  rear,  "and  this  here  little  tray 
jumps  out." 

Wolfson  turned  on  the  little  safe  dealer  with  a  ter 
rible  glare. 

uYou  got  to  tell  everything  what  you  know,"  he 
bellowed. 

Borrochson  smiled  grimly. 

"  I  guess  it's  a  good  thing  that  I  come  in  when  I  did, 
otherwise  you  would  of  schmeared  Daiches  a  fifty- 
dollar  note  that  he  shouldn't  tell  me  nothing  about  it, 
and  then  you  would  of  copped  out  them  diamonds 
and  told  me  you  didn't  find  it  nothing.  Ain't  it?" 
he  said. 

Wolfson  blushed. 

"If  you  would  say  I  am  a  thief,  Borrochson,"  he 
thundered,  "I  will  make  for  you  a  couple  blue  eyes 
what  you  wouldn't  like  already." 

"I  ain't  saying  nothing,"  Borrochson  replied.  "All 
I  want  is  you  should  pay  me  four  hundred  dollars 
balance  on  the  safe  and  twenty-six  hundred  and  fifty 
what  we  agreed  on  for  the  store  and  I  am  satisfied." 

"And  how  about  my  five  dollars?"  Daiches  cried. 

"That  I  will  pay  it  you  myself,"  Borrochson 
said. 

"Don't  do  me  no  favours,  Borrochson,"  Wolfson 
exclaimed,  "I  will  settle  with  Daiches." 

"But,"  Daiches  broke  in  again,  "how  about  them 
diamonds,  Mr.  Wolfson?" 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  341 

He  looked  significantly  at  Wolfson's  waistcoat 
pocket. 

"What  diamonds?"  Borrochson  asked. 

"He  means  the  diamonds  what  you  just  picked  up 
off  the  floor,"  Wolfson  hastened  to  explain.  "He 
wants  his  rakeoff,  too,  I  suppose." 

He  fastened  another  hypnotic  glare  on  the  shrink 
ing  Daiches  and,  taking  the  remaining  diamonds  from 
Borrochson,  he  put  them  with  the  others  in  his  vest 
pocket. 

"Well,"  he  concluded,  "that  I  will  settle  with  him, 
too.  To-morrow  is  Monday  and  we  will  all  meet  at 
Feldman's  office  at  two  o'clock.  Daiches,  you  and 
me  will  go  downtown  together  and  take  it  a  little 
dinner  and  some  wine,  maybe.  What  ? " 

He  took  Daiches'  arm  in  a  viselike  grasp  and  started 
to  lead  him  from  the  store. 

"Hold  on  there!"  Borrochson  cried.  "How  about 
them  diamonds?  You  got  the  diamonds  and  all  I 
get  is  two  hundred  dollars.  What  security  have  I 
got  it  that  you  don't  skip  out  with  the  diamonds  and 
give  me  the  rinky-dinks  ?  Ain't  it  ? " 

"About  the  stock  and  fixtures,  you  got  it  a  writing 
from  me.  Ain't  it?"  Wolfson  cried.  "And  about 
the  safe,  Daiches  here  is  a  witness.  I  give  you  two 
hundred  dollars  a  while  ago,  and  the  balance  of  four 
hundred  dollars  I  will  pay  it  you  to-morrow  at  two 
o'clock  when  we  close." 

He  took  the  keys  of  the  store  from  Borrochson 


342       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

after  the  door  was  locked,  and  once  more  he  led 
Daiches  to  the  street. 

"Yes,  Daiches,"  he  said,  as  they  neared  the  ele 
vated  station,  "that's  the  way  it  is  when  a  feller's 
tongue  runs  away  with  him.  You  pretty  near  done 
yourself  out  of  a  fine  diamond." 

"A  fine  diamond!"  Daiches  exclaimed.  "What 
d'ye  mean?" 

"I  mean,  if  you  wouldn't  say  nothing  to  Borroch- 
son  about  them  diamonds  what  I  stuck  it  in  my  waist 
coat  pocket  before  he  seen  'em,  as  soon  as  we  close  the 
deal  I  give  you  one.  Because  if  you  should  say 
something  to  Borrochson,  it  would  bust  up  the  deal; 
and  might  he  would  sue  me  in  the  courts  for  the 
diamonds  already." 

A  shrewd  glitter  came  into  Daiches'  eyes. 

"That's  where  you  make  it  a  mistake,  Mr.  Wolf- 
son,"  he  said.  "If  you  give  it  me  the  diamond  now, 
Mr.  Wolfson,  I  sure  wouldn't  say  nothing  to  Borroch 
son  about  it,  because  I  run  it  the  risk  of  losing  the 
diamond  if  I  do.  But  if  you  wouldn't  give  it  me  the 
diamond  till  after  the  deal  is  closed,  then  you  wouldn't 
need  to  give  it  me  at  all;  y'understand?" 

Wolfson  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  the  side 
walk. 

"You  are  a  fine  schwindler!"  he  said. 

"Whether  I  am  a  schwindler  or  I  ain't  a  schwindler, 
Mr.  Wolfson,  is  got  no  effect  on  me,"  Daiches  replied 
stolidly;  "for  otherwise,  if  I  don't  get  it  the  diamond 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  343 

right  this  minute  I  will  go  back  and  tell  it  all  about 
the  diamonds  to  Borrochson." 

Wolfson  clenched  his  right  fist  and  grasped  Daiches 
by  the  shoulder  with  his  left  hand. 

"You  dirty  dawg!"  he  began,  when  a  tall,  slender 
person  bumped  into  him.  The  intruder  was  mutter 
ing  to  himself  and  his  face  was  ghastly  with  an  almost 
unnatural  whiteness. 

"Rubin!"  Wolfson  cried,  and  stared  after  the  dis 
tracted  Rubin  who  seemed  to  stagger  as  he  half  ran 
down  the  street. 

"Leggo  from  my  arm,"  Daiches  said,  "or  I'll ' 

Wolfson  came  to  himself  with  a  start.  After  all, 
Rubin  would  be  around  the  next  day  to  buy  back  his 
safe,  and  Wolfson  argued  that  he  might  as  well  be  rid 
of  Daiches. 

"All  right,  Daiches,"  he  said,  "I'll  give  you  a 
diamond." 

He  stopped  under  a  lamppost  and  carefully  placed 
the  six  diamonds  in  a  little  row  on  the  flat  of  his  hand 
between  his  second  and  third  fingers.  Then  he 
selected  the  smallest  of  the  six  stones  and  handed  it  to 
Daiches. 

"Take  it  and  should  you  never  have  no  luck  so  long 
as  you  wear  it,"  he  grunted. 

"Don't  worry  yourself  about  that,  Mr.  Wolfson," 
Daiches  said  with  a  smile.  "I  ain't  going  to  wear  it; 
I'm  going  to  sell  it  to-morrow." 

He  folded  it  into  a  piece  of  paper   and    placed 


344       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

it  in  his  greasy  wallet,  out  of  which  he  extracted  a 
card. 

"Here  is  also  my  card,  Mr.  Wolfson,"  he  said  with 
a  smile.  "Any  time  you  want  some  more  work  done 
by  safes,  let  me  know;  that's  all." 

When  Borrochson  and  Wolfson  met  the  next  after 
noon  in  the  office  of  the  latter's  attorney,  Henry  D. 
Feldman,  they  wasted  no  courtesy  on  each  other. 

"Feldman  has  sent  up  and  searched  the  Register's 
office  for  chattel  mortgages  and  conditional  bill-off- 
sales,  and  he  don't  find  none,"  Wolfson  announced. 
"So  everything  is  ready." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  Borrochson  said.  "When 
I  get  into  a  piece  of  business  with  a  bloodsucker 
like  you,  Wolfson,  I  am  afraid  for  my  life  till  I  get 
through." 

"If  I  would  be  the  kind  of  bloodsucker  what  you 
are,  Borrochson,"  Wolfson  retorted,  "I  would  be 
calling  a  decent,  respectable  man  out  of  his  name. 
What  did  I  ever  done  to  you,  Borrochson?" 

"You  tried  your  best  you  should  do  me,  Wolfson," 
Borrochson  replied. 

"You  judge  me  by  what  you  would  have  done  if 
you  had  been  in  my  place,  Borrochson,"  Wolfson 
rejoined. 

"Never  mind,"  Borrochson  said.  "Now  we  will 
close  the  whole  thing  up,  and  I  want  it  distinctively 
understood  that  there  should  be  no  comebacks, 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  345 

Wolfson.  You  seen  it  my  stock  and  fixtures,  also 
my  safe?" 

"Sure  I  seen  it  and  examined  everything,  and  I 
don't  take  your  word  for  nothing,  Borrochson," 
Wolfson  declared  as  they  were  summoned  into  the 
presence  of  Feldman  himself. 

There  Borrochson  executed  a  bill-of-sale  of  the 
stock,  fixtures,  and  safe,  in  which  he  swore  that  he 
was  their  sole  owner. 

"It  is  distinctively  understood,"  Borrochson  said, 
as  he  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink  to  sign  the  affidavit, 
"that  I  don't  guarantee  nothing  but  what  I  am  the 
owner  of  the  goods.  Quality  and  quantity  he  got  to 
judge  it  for  himself." 

Mr.  Feldman  bowed. 

"In  the  absence  of  a  specific  warranty  the  same 
doctrine  applies  in  this  as  in  any  other  case,'y  he 
replied  sonorously,  "and  that  is  the  doctrine  of  caveat 
emptor." 

"Caviare?"  Wolfson  murmured  in  complete  mys 
tification.  "What  for  caviare  is  that ? " 

"Caveat,  not  caviare,"  Feldman  replied.  "Caveat 
emptor  means  'Let  the  purchaser  beware." 

Wolfson  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"I  bet  yer  it  applies  in  this  case,"  he  commented; 
"if  ever  a  purchaser  had  to  beware  it  is  in  this  case." 

Borrochson  grunted  and  then  pocketed  Wolfson's 
certified  check  for  the  balance  of  the  purchase  price, 
including  the  four  hundred  dollars  due  for  the  safe. 


346       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

A  minute  later  he  departed,  leaving  Feldman  alone 
with  his  client. 

"Mr.  Feldman,"  he  said  as  soon  as  Borrochson  had 
gone,  "supposing  a  feller  thinks  that  a  safe  has  got 
diamonds  into  it,  and  supposing  I  got  that  safe,  but  I 
know  there  ain't  no  diamonds  into  it  because  I  took 
'em  out  already.  And  supposing  that  feller  doesn't 
think  that  I  know  there  was  diamonds  into  the  safe 
because  them  diamonds  was  supposed  to  be  in  a 
secret  apartment  what  he  only  is  supposed  to  know  it. 
Supposing  he  buys  the  safe  from  me,  thinking  them 
diamonds  is  still  into  it,  and  pays  me  six  hundred 
dollars  for  a  safe  what  is  only  worth  fifty.  Would 
there  be  any  comeback?" 

"  Decidedly  not.  And  I  sincerely  hope  you  haven't 
been  buying  any  such  safe." 

"Gott  soil  huten!"  Wolfson  exclaimed. 

"No,  indeed,  there  will  be  no  recourse  to  the 
vendor,"  Feldman  replied.  "The  doctrine  of  caveat 
emptor  would  apply  in  that  case,  too." 

Wolfson  was  effusive  in  his  thanks  and  hastened  to 
return  to  his  recently  acquired  jewellery  business. 

When  he  left  the  elevated  station  on  the  way  to  the 
store  Wolfson  glanced  around  him  for  the  haggard 
features  and  the  attenuated  form  of  Rubin,  but  with 
out  avail.  He  unlocked  the  store  door  and  immedi 
ately  made  a  thorough  examination  of  the  stock  and 
fixtures.  Nothing  was  missing,  and,  after  consulting 
the  figures  furnished  him  by  Borrochson,  he  succeeded 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  347 

in  opening  the  combination  lock  of  the  Rubin  safe. 
He  took  out  the  top  drawer  on  the  left-hand  side  and 
scrutinized  it  carefully.  No  one  could  have  detected 
the  secret  slide,  which  was  now  replaced.  Neverthe 
less,  he  found  that,  unless  the  drawer  was  handled 
with  the  utmost  delicacy,  the  secret  slide  invariably 
jerked  out,  for  the  slightest  jar  released  the  controlling 
spring. 

"The  wonder  is  to  me,"  he  muttered,  "not  that 
Daiches  and  me  discovered  it,  but  that  Borrochson 
shouldn't  have  found  it  out." 

He  pondered  over  the  situation  for  several  minutes. 
If  Rubin  came  in  to  buy  the  safe,  he  argued,  the  first 
thing  he  would  do  would  be  to  look  at  the  drawer, 
and  in  his  feverish  haste  the  slide  would  be  bound  to 
open.  Once  Rubin  saw  that  the  diamonds  were 
missing  the  jig  would  be  up  and  he,  Wolfson,  would  be 
stuck  with  the  safe.  At  length  he  slapped  his  thigh. 

"I  got  it,"  he  said  to  himself.  'Til  shut  the  safe 
and  lock  it  and  claim  I  ain't  got  the  combination. 
Borrochson  must  have  changed  it  when  he  bought  it 
at  Rubin's  bankruptcy  sale,  and  so  Rubin  couldn't 
open  it  without  an  expert,  anyhow.  And  I  wouldn't 
bargain  with  Rubin,  neither.  He  wants  the  safe  for 
five  hundred  dollars;  he  shall  have  it." 

After  emptying  it  of  all  its  contents  he  closed  and 
locked  the  safe  and  sat  down  to  await  developments. 
Four  o'clock  struck  from  the  clock  tower  on  Madison 
Square  and  Rubin  had  not  arrived  yet,  so  Wolfson  lit 


348        THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

a  fresh  cigar  and  beguiled  his  vigil  with  a  paper  he  had 
found  under  the  safe. 

"I  guess  I'll  lock  up  and  go  to  my  dinner/*  he  said 
at  eight  o'clock.  "To-morrow  is  another  day,  and  if 
he  don't  come  to-day  he'll  come  to-morrow  yet." 

Half  an  hour  later  he  sat  at  a  table  in  Glauber's 
restaurant  on  Grand  Street,  consuming  a  dish  of 
paprika  schnitzel.  At  the  side  of  his  plate  a  cup  of 
fragrant  coffee  steamed  into  his  nostrils  and  he  felt  at 
peace  with  all  the  world.  After  the  first  cup  he  grew 
quite  mollified  toward  Borrochson,  and  it  was  even  in 
his  heart  to  pity  Rubin  both  for  the  loss  he  had  sus 
tained  and  the  disappointment  he  was  still  to  suffer. 
As  for  Daiches,  he  had  completely  passed  out  of  Wolf- 
son's  mind,  but  just  as  pride  goeth  before  a  fall,  ease 
is  often  the  immediate  predecessor  of  discomfort. 

Perhaps  there  is  nothing  more  uncomfortable  than 
to  receive  a  glassful  of  cold  water  in  the  back  of  the 
neck,  and  although  Wolfson's  neck  bulged  over  his 
celluloid  collar  so  that  none  of  the  icy  fluid  went  down 
his  back,  the  experience  was  far  from  agreeable. 
After  the  shock  had  spent  itself  he  turned  around  to 
find  J.  Daiches  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  two  husky 
waiters. 

"Schwindler!"  Daiches  howled,  as  he  was  propelled 
violently  toward  the  door.  "For  all  what  I  have 
done  for  you,  you  give  me  a  piece  from  glass." 

"Wait  a  bit!"  Wolfson  cried.  "What  is  that  he 
says  about  a  piece  from  glass?" 


CAVEAT  EMPTOR  349 

But  the  waiters  were  too  quick  for  him,  and  Daiches 
struck  the  car  tracks  and  bounded  east  on  Grand 
Street,  toward  his  place  of  business,  before  Wolfson 
had  an  opportunity  to  question  him. 

Wolfson  returned  to  his  table  without  further 
appetite  for  his  food.  Hastily  and  with  trembling 
fingers  he  took  from  his  wallet  a  tissue-paper  package 
wrapped  after  the  fashion  of  a  seidlitz  powder.  This 
he  opened  and  exposed  five  glittering  gems,  but  it 
seemed  now  to  Wolfson  that  they  possessed  almost  a 
spurious  brilliancy.  He  glanced  around  nervously 
and  at  a  table  in  the  rear  of  the  room  he  espied 
Sigmund  Pollak,  the  pawnbroker,  who  could  appraise 
a  gem  at  a  minute's  notice  by  virtue  of  his  long  ex 
perience  with  impecunious  customers. 

At  a  frenzied  gesture  from  Wolfson,  Pollak  leisurely 
crossed  the  room. 

"Hullo,  Wolfson,"  he  said,  "what's  the  trouble 
now?" 

"Nothing,"  Wolfson  replied,  "only  I  want  it  you 
should  do  me  a  favour  and  look  at  these  here  dia 
monds." 

Pollak  examined  them  carefully. 

"How  much  did  you  give  for  'em?"  he  asked. 

"I  didn't  give  nothing  for  'em,"  Wolfson  replied. 
"I  found  'em  in  a  safe  what  I  bought  it  from  a  feller 
by  the  name  Philip  Borrochson,  in  the  jewellery  busi 


ness." 


Well,"  Pollak  replied  slowly,  "you  ain't  made 


350       THE  COMPETITIVE  NEPHEW 

nothing  by  'em  and  Borrochson  ain't  lost  nothing  by 
'em,  because  they  ain't  worth  nothing.  They're  just 
paste.  In  fact,  there's  a  lot  of  that  stuff  around  now 
adays.  A  feller  by  the  name  Daiches  showed  me  one 
of  'em  about  half  an  hour  ago  yet,  and  wants  to  sell  it 
to  me.  I  offered  him  a  quarter  for  it." 

Pollak  returned  the  paste  gems  to  Wolfson,  who 
tossed  them  into  his  trousers  pocket  with  a  non 
chalance  engendered  of  many  years'  poker  playing. 

"  Have  a  little  something  to  drink,  Pollak  ?"  he  said. 

"Thanks,  I  shouldn't  mind  if  I  did,"  Pollak  re 
plied.  "By  the  way,  ain't  that  your  friend  Borroch 
son  what  is  coming  in  now?" 

Wolfson  again  turned  around  in  his  chair,  and  this 
time,  despite  his  poker  training,  he  was  shaken  out  of 
all  self-possession. 

"Who's  this  here  tall,  white-face  feller  what  comes 
in  with  him?"  he  hissed. 

"Him?"  Pollak  answered.  "Why,  that's  a  great 
friend  from  Borrochson's,  a  feller  by  the  name  Rubin 
what  is  one  of  the  actors  by  the  Yiddisher  theayter." 

Wolfson  faced  about  again  and  essayed  to  tackle 
his  schnitzel. 

"Say,  Pollak,"  he  croaked,  "d'ye  want  to  buy  a 
good  safe  cheap?" 


THE  END 


THE    COUNTRY   LIFE    PRESS 
GARDEN   CITY,   N.   Y. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


N9   567088 


PS3513 
Glass,   M.M.  L37 

The  competitive  C6 

nephew. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


